Duality Paradox
by bipalium
Summary: His thin fingers were working fast, showing Zoro the countdown to the point where he wouldn't be able to do anything.
1. Chapter 1

The numb ache in his jaw made him aware of a strong blow the blond's foot had just sent him. It was rapid and furious, and he was very familiar with it after a good thousand of matches they'd sparred together. The difference now was that the taste of blood in his mouth was too strong for a usual fight.

Zoro flickered his tongue over his steel-tasting teeth. One was missing.

"I'm fucking tired of your shit, you hear me!"

Returning his attention to the blond, Zoro peered into the enraged face. The face he'd used to see with a toothy smile or a crooked grin, a drunken blush or a shade of annoyance when those blue eyes rolled exasperatedly at Zoro's jokes. It had been angry sometimes – very often, safe to say. But every time they had fought, Zoro had been fighting with _his_ blond. This face didn't belong to the person he knew, to the person he'd spent so many nights awake with, so many mornings, watching the golden dawn in comfortable silence.

Sanji was dead serious.

Still panting from the aftermath of the strike, Zoro peered into the steel-cold blue eye. Sanji's mouth began to quiver, forming that ugly writhe it always had when the man shouted on the edge on his rage.

But suddenly, the tense eye-contact between them was broken. Probably figuring out Zoro wasn't going to defend himself, Sanji turned his back to the man and lit up a cigarette.

Zoro watched the blond's back. He was wearing Zoro's old white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. No matter how much the cocky idiot was complaining about Zoro's rusty clothes, how often he demanded to throw all the old shit away, this particular shirt, despite being too broad for the skinny-ass blond, was Sanji's favorite.

"I'm going to pack my stuff." Sanji's voice became quiet. Cigarettes always calmed his flaming temper down. But the coldness was much worse than fury.

"Are you going because of this?" Zoro finally lost his temper. His jaw was pierced with dull pain as he snapped, and the taste of blood filled his mouth again.

"'Because of this', huh." The blond snorted, throwing his finished cigarette to the nearest ashtray. Without looking at Zoro, he moved to the bedroom, taking the white shirt off on his way and dropping it to the floor. Unconsciously, Zoro followed him, not sure what answer exactly he wanted to hear.

"Just because I'm fucking late for the date?" The green haired man glared at the blond's back from the doorway. Sanji was hurriedly throwing his clothes out of their wardrobe.

"Oh, fuck the date, fuck everything, but damn you, shit moss-head, you could at least-" the blond shot him a glare over his shoulder, his tone raising, "return home before midnight!"

He kicked off the sweatpants, quickly changing them to his black slacks, then picked the first unwrinkled shirt from the floor and started buttoning it. His thin fingers were working fast, showing Zoro the countdown to the point where he wouldn't be able to do anything.

The problem was, Zoro didn't know what to do.

"I already told you that Johnny and Yosaku arrived just today! They wanted to chat at the bar a little! I had no fucking idea they'd throw a fight and get sent to the police and I'd have to get their asses out of there!" Zoro's face flamed stronger with heat with every word until his voice rose into yelling.

Staying in the center of a mess, Sanji gave him a blank look. Usually when they bickered, the blue eye would watch Zoro with annoyance, maybe mockingly, but now it was a different look. Heavy, sullen.

"You're always like this," Sanji sighed deeply but without any relief. "'It's not my fault, it's Luffy! It's Usopp! Johnny and Yosaku are idiots who can't even save their own asses!'" After splashing his hands at his act, Sanji straightened. "I'm sick of your excuses."

"Damn you, Curly, I told you-" Zoro cut himself off instantly as comprehension flew into his head. Sanji's words sounded cold as if he'd already decided and there was nothing Zoro could do about it anymore.

Ignoring Zoro completely, Sanji packed his clothes and fled off to the kitchen, a big empty bag on his shoulder.

"I can't take all my shit now, so I'll send a courier tomorrow," the blond stated flatly, taking his pans and pots out from the drawers.

Zoro shouldered the doorway, silent, experiencing tough rawness in his jaw muscles. The blond had always been very careful with his pricey utensils, but now he was shoving them into the bag recklessly as fast as he could.

Closing his eyes, Zoro listened to the noisy clatter. It died out after a while, and he felt air moving by his side. The sounds from the door proceeded next.

"Thanks for the fucking best birthday in my life, bastard!"

A loud slam of the apartment door made Zoro flinch intensively. He kept his eyes shut, hoping it all was just a nightmare.


	2. Chapter 2

In his sleep he sensed warm skin brushing over his neck. Without opening his eyes, he groaned stiffly and quickly swept back into his dreamless slumber.

He woke up reluctantly after what seemed like a couple of hours. Warm sunshine licked his bare skin. It wasn't too hot outside, since the spring was still early. But the warmth that had focused on his back became heat after a while, making him sweat.

Kicking the thin blanket off his naked body, Sanji flipped his eyes open. The room was filled with golden light, which suited the best for a day-off. And his twenty-fifth birthday.

Glancing shortly to the nightstand, the blond noticed a piece of paper near the alarm clock. Sitting up in the crumpled bed, he reached out and grabbed the note.

_ Good morning, Love-Cook. You didn't wake up when I tried to force you, so... I'll come home at about 7 PM._

_Zoro._

_P. S.: Congrats with getting your stupid ass older._

Sanji snickered at the idiot-Marimo's greeting card (which was made of a ripped notebook sheet) and picked up his pack of smokes from the stand. Lighting up a stick and pushing his back to the pillow, he threw a quick glance at the clock. Half past nine. He still had some time before going.

Both he and Zoro were pretty busy at work – Zoro at his uncle's dojo and Sanji at his foster father's restaurant. They rarely got a chance to spend some time together recently, so Sanji decided to take a day-off to celebrate his birthday.

He didn't like birthdays that much, though. Yes, he usually threw parties for a small circle of friends. But he didn't enjoy the feeling of non-accomplishment, which crept into his chest every year he grew older. He'd been wanting to become the grand chef of his own restaurant since forever. But despite his culinary talent, he was still stuck in the geezer's restaurant as a sous-chef.

His swirly eyebrows knitted stubbornly at the reminder of the fact of what a loser he was. Now a loser at his twenty-five. A quarter of a fucking century.

But then, he had Zoro with him. The man had a tendency to be annoying – most times he drove Sanji plainly nuts. But with this ambitious swordsman Sanji learned that none a dream was impossible to achieve when you believed in your strength.

Zoro wanted to become the greatest swordsman and was slowly but successfully moving towards his goal. At the age of nineteen he won a contest in a teenage group of sword fighters, and from that time more and more prizes had gotten to his special shelf. There were also tough times, injures and downfalls, but Zoro was more stubborn than that.

Sanji couldn't believe Zoro was a world champion when he'd first met him three years ago. A cocky, irritating bastard who'd complained about the liquor bill at his restaurant was looking nothing like a respectable swordsman. He was just... a sassy moron with stupid green hair.

Sanji chuckled at the memory. Indeed, he taught the idiot-swordsman a lesson about manners back then. With his feet.

So, Sanji was going to flee to the Baratie to give some tasks to older stupid chefs and then he was free for the whole day. And after that would come the weekend. He looked forward to spending an evening and two days together with Zoro. Not going outside, not thinking or talking about work.

Squinting his eyes, Sanji imagined what they'd do after Zoro's return. They'd eat and drink and chat until it'd be too hot for staying in the kitchen. Then they'd kiss throughout their apartment, hands all over each other. After reaching the bedroom, they'd strip their clothes off, eagerly, impatiently, barely able to wait to get undressed fully, touching each other's skin with heated lips. When they'd both be naked, they'd fall right onto this bed. Zoro would tease him – oh that fucker, he always liked to tease. His lips would brush over Sanji's chest, stopping to circle around his hardening nipples, then lower, paying attention to each inch of his skin until his breath would tickle the blond's crotch. Then Zoro would raise his head and smirk at Sanji, who'd clench his fingers into the soft green hair, not able to wait a second more. And Zoro would obey the plea, taking the blond's throbbing cock into his heated mouth without averting his eyes from the blond's. And Sanji would watch, eyelids half-lowered, as his length would disappear behind those goddamn, incredible lips as the talented tongue would flicker around his head and...

Sanji caught himself palming his morning erection and biting his lower lip. The cigarette he'd been smoking burned to the edge and fell to his collarbone. Cursing, Sanji hesitantly tore his hand off his needy cock. He had to wait just till the evening, and Zoro would take care of it. The swordsman was such a good fuck after all.

He got up lazily, put on his favorite blue-striped shirt and black slacks. After brushing his teeth and shaving carefully so not to ruin his perfect goatee, he went to the kitchen to have a cup of espresso. Finishing a toast, coffee and a cigarette, he caught his mind drifting again to the directions he didn't want it to wander off now. The blond closed his eyes, waiting for the hard bulge in his pants to calm down.

He'd driven to the Baratie and after half an hour of irritated shouts finally got free from orders for the chefs. On his way home he stopped by a gourmet store to pick up the best ingredients for the dinner. Fine liquor as well. Grabbing a bottle of vermouth for himself, he next stopped at a shelf of stronger drinks. Their very first quarrel was about booze, and Sanji knew what a big fan of heavy alcohol Zoro was. He chose a bottle of blue agave tequila, which would go well with spicy fried pork he was going to prepare. Shrimp cocktail with mid-spicy onion sauce would be fine as well with both their drinks.

After paying for the purchases (the price for which was pretty high, not that he cared about it today), Sanji packed the bags and hurried to drive home. The road was almost empty, and he hummed to the song on a radio, carefree and high-spirited.

The unwanted for now image of the swordsman's lips around him popped into his head again. He shifted in his seat, trying to think of something less arousing. Taxes. Bills. Apartment rent. Today's dinner cost him so much that they'd have to tie their belts tight for a couple of weeks. Also, Sanji was twenty-five now. Which meant thirty with its midlife crisis was close.

Swallowing thickly, he welcomed the previous image back into his mind. Much better. Even if his pants became uncomfortably tight again.

_**1 PM.**_ Sanji took a short shower after returning home – very short, trying not to rub anything sensitive too intensively. He dried his hair and smoothed it with gel. One strand wouldn't get into shape stubbornly, and he spent some annoying time in front of the mirror, trying to fight that shitty curl.

_**2 PM.**_ He watched some culinary shows, taking notes into his recipe book. Not that there was anything he hadn't already known. But a few interesting tips popped from time to time.

_**4 PM.**_Sauce was indeed the heart of any dish. Pork should be served hot, and shrimps fresh, so he started to prepare the onion sauce. It was an easy task for a chef of his practice, however he was making it very carefully, as if it was a piece of art.

_**5 PM.**_ After putting the sauce into refrigerator, he sat by the dining table to have a smoke break. It was still too early to cook the rest of the dishes. Zoro would come at 7 PM, then he'd probably want to take a shower. So they'd eat about 8 PM. And then fuck hard at about 10 PM. Sanji's lips curved around his third in a chain cigarette.

_**6 PM.**_ He was getting a bit sleepy, but his smoothed hair didn't allow him to take a nap. Also, he was dressed up in a fine gray shirt and a narrow black necktie. So, no naps. He went to the balcony to smoke a cigarette there. The breeze outside wasn't cold, but it was chilling, and his drowsiness soon vanished.

_**6.30 PM.**_He smashed the pork before roasting it. Shrimps would be ready in a dozen of minutes, so he decided to set them boil right before Zoro's return.

_**6.40 PM.**_ He scratched his chin. Almost forgot the glasses. A shot glass for Zoro, a tall glass for himself. Vermouth with or without ice? Did he even set the ice? His eyes widened as he rushed to the refrigerator's door. The ice was there.

_**7.05 PM.**_ Five minutes. Too early to worry, right? The stupid swordsman had never been punctual anyway.

_**7.15 PM.**_ He also had that awful tendency of getting lost even on a straight line.

_**7.20 PM.**_ The hand on Sanji's wristwatch was no faster than a turtle. That moron probably got on a wrong subway chain. Thank god he didn't drive.

_**7.23 PM.**_ Slamming his phone open, the blond quickly flipped through his contact list. He clicked _'Marimo'_ and thought of renaming the contact to _'Unworthy Marimo'_. Or _'Good for nothing Marimo'. 'Good for nothing other than a perfect blowjob Marimo'._

"Yes?" The grumpy voice caught his flowing attention.

"Where the hell are you?" The blond snapped.

"Oh, it's time already?" The noises on the background made Zoro's voice hard to hear clearly.

"It was time twenty-three... twenty-four minutes ago," Sanji glared at his wristwatch as if everything was its fault.

"Okay, I'll come in half an hour then."

"Half an hour?!" Sanji's brow twitched. Blowjob at 11 PM then, damn it. It would better be fucking good now.

"Curly, I know I promised," Zoro's voice lowered but now was easier to hear, it seemed the swordsman cupped his hand around the phone. "Just, Johnny and Yosaku arrived today–"

"The hell?!"

"They forced me to go to a bar despite I wasn't going to."

"Then why did you go, idiot?" Sanji knocked his knuckles over the wooden surface.

"I haven't seen them in ages. They're my friends, after all." Zoro sighed. It wasn't his favorite topic, but Sanji couldn't care less already.

"Friends, okay. Who am I then, a stranger?"

Maybe Sanji didn't mean to sound so needy and offended, but his tongue made him, despite his will.

"Listen, Cook." Zoro now spoke barely audible. "I'll get rid of them now and come in thirty minutes. Then I'll fuck you hard until you're so raw you can't move a finger."

Sanji's brow twitched again, as well as his suddenly hard cock in his pants.

"Sounds about right, you useless Marimo." He grinned and hanged up. _'Good for nothing other than a perfect blowjob Marimo'_, indeed.

_**7.53 PM.**_ Sixth cigarette in a row. The blond loosened his tie and unbuttoned the dress shirt halfway to his chest.

_**8.01 PM.**__ The subscriber's phone is switched off or is out of the coverage area. Please, try to call later._

Contacts – Change information – Change name.

With furious fingers, Sanji typed:

'_Good for nothing Marimo'._

_**9 PM.**_ Cold pork wasn't that bad. The problem was, Sanji wasn't hungry anymore. His stomach growled loudly, but not even a bit would go down his throat.

_**10 PM.**_ He changed his shirt and slacks to a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants. Much more comfortable, though it didn't make him at ease.

_**10.27 PM.**_ He uncorked the bottle of vermouth.

_**10.45 PM.**_ It wasn't that bad even without olives or ice.

_**10.55 PM.**_ But was even better after five cigarettes.

_**11.10 PM.**_ _The subscriber's phone–_

He dried the remains of the bottle in one gulp.

_**11.30 PM.**_ His stomach was warm, his head tipsy just a bit.

_**11.36 PM.**_ The cold pork appeared to be the best goddamn dish in the world.

_**11.55 PM.**_ He hated to waste food, but it wasn't his fault that his stomach decided to throw its contains up.

_**00 AM.**_ Much better, except that his head was trying to kill him. _Do not get drunk on empty stomach, _he noted to himself, swallowing painkillers.

_**00.15 AM.**_ His whole body ached as if it got hit by a truck. Painkillers didn't help much. Cigarettes tasted like shit.

_**00.27 AM.**_ He was on his way to the bedroom when he heard the front door open.

Apparently, Zoro wasn't expecting Sanji to attack him right in the doorway. Not able to suppress his anger, the blond kicked him furiously right in the face. The crack he heard was disturbing. Being used to Zoro's perfect defense in their sparring matches, Sanji didn't even think that the swordsman would miss his blow. The blond's throat was letting the angry words out before his mind would even proceed with their meaning. Zoro, bloody all over his face and neck, was looking at him with disbelief in his dark eyes. _Never takes me seriously, good for nothing bastard._ But Sanji was dead serious.


	3. Chapter 3

He sat down to the table, letting out a breath.

Two empty bottles were standing on the wooden surface. If somebody weren't aware of what had happened there during the previous night, they'd think two drinking buddies had apparently been chilling. But Zoro was unfortunate to be aware.

That vague hope in the back of his mind melted away when he woke up and felt raw pain in his face. The blow was real, as Sanji's determination had been.

Zoro moved himself out of the bed, every cell of his body hurting as if he'd been smashed against a brick wall several nice times. Half of it all was probably caused by the amount of alcohol he'd poured into his throat after that fateful slam of the door. Now, looking at the table, he was slightly surprised that his body had welcomed two bottles of liquor and then somehow managed to drag him to the bedroom, where he passed out without undressing.

But wait. One of the bottles was apparently some sweet garbage that Zoro wouldn't drink for sure. Yes, he had been angry, but something was suggesting he wasn't the one who'd dried that bottle down.

As he recollected those final moments, something had been a bit off in the blond's demeanor. Well, not just "something" – everything was damn surreal – but the way Sanji's voice sounded, his trembling hands splashed, his facial features quivered... Seemed like that bottle of vermouth was Sanji's.

Zoro chewed on his lip, and the taste of blood wrapped around his tongue again. No, even if the cook had been drunk, his actions were sober, his words were straight, without any implied possibilities of a choice.

His hand clenched into a fist, knuckles turning white as he hit the table.

Zoro was so goddamn angry. He didn't want to _hope_ that everything would magically become alright and a simple spell would heal the possessed cook. No, Zoro was a realist. Moreover, he had been living with Sanji for two years and knew that the cook valued the word of a man. None of his decisions had ever been altered.

That was exactly the reason why they'd even started to live together. Zoro had been sane enough to understand that he'd never be able to stand sharing an apartment with the blond – they had been... _dating_ for almost a year back then. They both hated to call it _dating_ though. It was more like a weird companionship involving sex. And irritation. A lot of irritation.

He couldn't even remember properly how it started. Once upon a time, during an ordinary hot summer day, he'd gotten into a fancy restaurant to have a drink. Not only did it end up tasting like piss but in addition was expensive as hell. Zoro wasn't really going to complain, until a cocky blond cook was offended by his remark about the taste.

That had been their first fight, at the end of which Zoro realized the blonde moron was a really good sparring partner. His movements were graceful, power flowed in his legs like his blood was boiling with fuel. And the most interesting part of it was that they could perfectly predict each other's strikes, blocking and dodging them in the most natural way.

Probably, that was the exact reason why Zoro started to visit that shitty place more often. The blonde cook acted as nastily as he did the first time, but as the time passed, they somehow ended up chatting friendly. They would still fight though, but it was gradually becoming less of rage and more of entertainment. The blond's flashing smirk was also a pleasant view to watch.

It appeared they had the same friends. Only that, when Usopp learned Zoro and Sanji had got acquainted, he shook in fear, mumbling something like _"I prayed to all the gods you guys would never meet each other"_. Maybe the long-nose was right. Luffy just chuckled matter-of-factly: _"That's great, you two are friends now!"_ Except for they weren't friends, not at all.

Nami, who seemed to be pretty indifferent about them two, threw a party and invited them both. Eventually, Zoro somehow ended up in one bed with the blond. The memory was faint, they were probably drunk. The swordsman thought it had been an accident – a fucking good accident, he should admit, but afterwards Sanji didn't look like he was against it. In fact, as Zoro noticed back then, as their cocks ground against each other, Sanji was biting and sucking on his neck so hard there was no way the blond could pretend he didn't like it.

Yes, sex was just too good to let the chance slip away. And they started, ugh, _dating_.

Everything except for that was a huge mess. They were always bickering even about the tiniest things. But then there were fights. And sex. Fights and sex were incredible, and Zoro caught himself ignoring the blond's screaming flaws as the time passed.

The reason why they ended up in one apartment was simple as day. Once Sanji just called him and said that he'd found a place that would suit the best for both himself and Zoro. It wasn't pricey, and the trip to their work places wouldn't take more than twenty minutes. _"We'll split the rent in half,"_ the cook's last argument was.

So Zoro agreed. He wasn't sure how he'd handle the noisy idiot. But then, they could sleep together in one bed every night. Zoro was slightly aware (since they'd stayed over at each other's pretty rarely) that in addition to good sex the blond was very comfortable just to sleep with. His skin was soft and warm, and Zoro really enjoyed snuggling to him from behind, which drove him to sleep instantly. Not that he ever admitted it to his... companion.

He never knew where this relationship was leading them. He wasn't even thinking about it. It became like a habit, some sort of escapism. Every time Zoro failed (which, of course, wasn't often), he could always return home where he had Sanji's shoulder to lean on. The blond never asked him about his fights – somehow, he always sensed if Zoro won or lost. When he won, Sanji would greet him with a smile a bit softer than usual and prepare a delicious meal (which Zoro never praised though – too much of an honor for the egocentric cook). And when Zoro lost, Sanji would squeeze his shoulder and prepare a meal even more delicious. In both cases Zoro's body would get some special attention before sleep, not depending on his results. And it was especially good since the swordsman hated being given pity.

But sometimes Sanji was a disaster. Zoro liked to enjoy some quiet time after work, and Sanji would annoy him, not allowing the tension in his muscles to spread and dissolve. The blonde cook would ask him silly questions, babble complains about his shitty customers, offer Zoro to go out despite the swordsman was worn out. Noisy, very noisy and distracting. When Zoro wouldn't reply him anything, sitting on the floor, his legs crossed, eyes shut, the idiot cook would snort, probably rolling his eyes. Sometimes he would be nasty enough to start a quarrel out of nothing. Zoro just wanted some rest – was it really so beyond understanding?

Sanji was indeed a drama queen sometimes. No wonder that relationship didn't lead them anywhere. Zoro wasn't even very surprised that it ended. Just, he _hoped_ maybe it would last a bit longer. The time he had spent with that idiot wasn't that unpleasant, after all. In rare times of the blond's calmness Zoro would just sit in the kitchen silently, watching Sanji's hands make witchcraft with food. Sipping on a beer, the green haired man just enjoyed those moments of peace.

Suddenly his attention was driven to the empty bottles. His brows rose at the realization, and he jumped on his spot.

Sanji had been drinking yesterday. And then he left. Drunk or not drunk, was he able to drive? What if–

Zoro tried to block all rushing thoughts while hurrying to the parking lot.

The blue Ford Mustang was still there as if nothing had happened. Approaching, Zoro felt an uncomfortable knot in his gut. What if Sanji fell asleep in his car and was still inside?

The moment he glanced into the cabin he cursed himself through gritted teeth. Of course the cook wasn't there. Despite being an idiot, Sanji wouldn't drive while being drunk. He'd probably catch a taxi, but... Where might he go?

Dipping his fingertips onto the bridge of his nose, Zoro sighed. There wasn't a broad amount of possibilities after all. He definitely went to Usopp – not Luffy, since the guy was out of town for who knew what business. And of course not Nami, because he wouldn't disturb a girl even in a serious situation, what a dumb white-knight he was.

After returning to the apartment, Zoro flipped his phone open. Oh, right, it died yesterday when they were at the police station. Remembering the reason of the matter that was by all means idiotic, Zoro punched his forehead, instantly feeling dull pain creeping from the back of his head.

He set the phone on charge and turned it on. The main screen showed him it was already past 1 PM, forcing a slight frown on his face. Several missed call notifications popped up. One from Johnny, today at 9 AM, another from Yosaku, 9.45 AM. Bastards, got rid of their problems and slept their asses peacefully. Two others were from _'Love-cook'_, dated yesterday night. The air came out from Zoro's lungs constrained and ragged. His finger rose to the contact name, but he instantly jerked it away.

Putting the phone onto the table, he pressed his fingertips to his heavy eyelids. Pulsing red in his shut eyes made his head spin. Suddenly the phone on the wood vibrated, making him flinch. He grabbed it, again feeling the treacherous hope tickling his stomach. But it faded right at the moment he saw the one calling was _'Johnny'_.

"Yes," Zoro husked through his teeth. His jaw didn't allow him to open his mouth wider.

"Yo, bro!" a cheerful voice chuckled. "How are you? I'm not distracting you from anything important, I hope?"

Anger made Zoro's teeth clench tighter.

"No. What's the matter?"

"Nah, just wanted to ask if everything is alright. You seemed so pissed yesterday, I'm really sorry about what happened... Anyway, how's Blondie?"

Zoro's jaw creaked dangerously.

"Johnny, I seriously don't want to talk about it now," he uttered, keeping his rage shut. "Call you later."

He heard some mumbling from the other end before hanging up. It wasn't directly Johnny and Yosaku's fault, so it would be pointless to yell at them. Zoro just couldn't think properly now, hearing that carefree voice.

He sat in the kitchen for a long while, his face buried into his palms. Not hearing the familiar tapping of a knife was indeed unusual.

He stood abruptly and stretched his arms. There was no need to get so frustrated about such stupid things. Things he could not change anyway. For now he had another problem to deal with: he hadn't taken a shower in what felt like a century, not to mention his jaw wouldn't stop itching.

His eyes widened at the reflection he caught in the bathroom mirror. Framed in one-day stubble, his face was still covered in blood that had dried by now and looked like dirt. Zoro winced at the ugly image. His jaw didn't fail to remind him about its injury under the movement of muscles.

Taking his clothes off for a shower, he heard a small thud. A dark-grey box with a red ribbon fell out of his jean pocket. Damn, he completely forgot.

Picking up the box, he looked at it with a dull face. He'd wanted to make sure he'd make a worthy gift for the blond this year, since every holiday ended up with Sanji receiving tons of pans and spatulas. Porcelain tea-sets too. Sometimes fine cigarettes and liquors.

So Zoro had done some research, at the end of which he figured a Swiss watch with an extremely correct second hand would please the cook just fine. Working with complicated dishes, Sanji had to rely on time and be sure it wouldn't let him down. After searching through all the specific stores Zoro was able to locate, he bought a silver chain watch. He was actually really happy that he'd found one the cook might like.

Not that it mattered anymore. He tore off the ribbon and the wrapping paper to check if the watch managed to survive its encounter with the floor. The dial was fortunately unbroken, and Zoro sighed with relief. The thing was, what was he going to do with it now?

The watch was expensive as hell – Zoro had been unfortunate enough to choose one of the priciest to impress the blond. Snorting at his own idiocy, the green haired man put the watch back into its box. After several seconds of tapping his fingertips over the edge of the sink, he moved the mirror and laid the box into the medicine drawer. It would be a waste to throw the present away, but since he couldn't come up with any other use for it, he just left it be for now.

Taking the rest of his clothes off, Zoro stepped into the shower cabin and turned the water on. A refreshing stream of mild warmth wrapped around his body, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the perfect temperature. Occasional streaks flowed over his slightly parted lips, dripping onto his chest in a way that made him shiver. He raised his hands to wash the blood off his face, then slid them to his neck.

When they were taking a shower together, thin fingers would land onto his shoulder blades, brushing them lightly. They'd wander over his skin, heated under the warm streams, and then stop on his buttocks, massaging the muscles in circles. The blond would glide his other hand over Zoro's side to his torso, his index finger following the long scar from Zoro's shoulder to his hipbone, stroking Zoro's abs. He'd caress Zoro's ass and balls, and the swordsman would throw his head back onto Sanji's shoulder, breathing harder, exposing his neck for a kiss that he'd receive immediately. Warm lips and warm water would tease him together while one hand would clasp its fingers around Zoro's arousal and the other would spread his buttocks. A fingertip brushing over his entrance and the ascending strokes of the hand on his cock would make him gasp.

Zoro pushed his finger inside, biting his lip at a familiar sensation. His hand pumped on his length faster as he started to pull his finger in and out. Pressing his hot forehead to the cold tile wall, he panted as his hands were about to bring him to climax.

A doorbell made him freeze sharply. Pulling both his hands away and jumping out of the cabin, Zoro grabbed the nearest towel, which turned out to be so small it was barely enough to cover his arousal. Soon he wouldn't need any towel anyway.

Zoro dashed to the door in a flash, tying the towel on his hip. He'd never been in such a hurry to open a door. He jerked it open only to find a brown-haired guy in a white coat.

A string burst inside his chest, his hopes tumbling into the hollow abyss.

"Zoro, what happened?" the guy asked worriedly. A frown above his big brown eyes showed way too much concern.

"Hi, Chopper," Zoro forced, backing off. "Give me a minute."

Leaving Chopper in the hall, he quickly returned to the bathroom. No wonder his erection weakened completely, giving him a heavy feeling of guilt and embarrassment. _What an idiot I am, thinking he'd return just like that..._ Sighing, Zoro got into sweatpants and a t-shirt and went back to his abandoned neighbor.

Chopper jumped on his spot when Zoro approached.

"I noticed you on the parking lot when I was returning from the nightshift," the guy explained. "What was with all that... blood?"

"Oh, that," Zoro winced, as his jaw throbbed with pain when it moved. It was way too carefree to come out in such a shitty state. People could think he was a zombie or something. But somehow he couldn't care less when he rushed outside. "Nothing serious, got in a small fight."

"Small fight?" Chopper's voice rose. "Again? Damn it, Zoro, you should be more careful! What did Sanji say about it? Did he help you with first aid?"

Flinching at the way too familiar name, the green haired man felt that unnerving knot in his gut again.

"No."

"Why? I told him so many times to take care of you when you're injured and I'm working and–"

"He won't take care of anything anymore."

The guy's already wide eyes became even wider. With a look of horror and stress, he peered into Zoro's face, wordless.

"He left," Zoro added quietly, realizing his previous answer could've probably freaked the shit out of his younger friend. Not that it helped.

Trying to avoid a detailed explanation, Zoro gave Chopper a brief picture of last night. The guy looked more and more sorrowful with every word, his usually cheerful face full of pity and dismay.

After that short talk, Chopper, who was a practicing surgeon in the local hospital, demanded to take care of Zoro's jaw. Chopper was Zoro's long-standing doctor, with whom he got acquainted right after moving in – his never-ending wounds gained in competitions needed special treatment. The younger guy lectured him every time, reminding him to be more careful. Of course Zoro couldn't help it, since he'd always been fighting with all his force, going towards his goal. So Chopper kept sighing and stewing his wounds. They had become pretty close buddies after a nice hundred of those mini-operations.

Now, despite his obvious concern, the little doctor did his job professionally, firm hands inspecting Zoro's affected mouth carefully.

"None of the bones are broken, which is good," he sighed, removing his rubber gloves. "But one tooth is missing."

"Do you think I don't know that already?" Zoro rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'm saying you should visit a dentist, because there can still be roots remaining," Chopper stated with a confident tone.

The guy left not long after another long and boring lection about Zoro's health and its importance if he was going to stay alive until thirty. Saying goodbye, he lingered in the doorway for a moment.

"Mm, about Sanji..." Chopper raised his wide eyes to Zoro's face. Zoro looked away.

"Nothing to discuss."

"I hope you two will be alright," he muttered and left.

Time passed as slowly as never before when Zoro was trying to distract himself from unnecessary thoughts. Usually he would do push-ups and sit-ups, but now his body felt numb and beaten. Several beers and not so entertaining movies later he decided to call it a night. His stomach, however, reminded him of its emptiness with a low growl.

The leftovers of what seemed like yesterday's dinner, even tasting fine, wouldn't slip down his throat, where a tough lump was blocking them. After several bites Zoro gave up on food. A thought that the cook would never praise him for leaving a meal unfinished crossed his mind, but he instantly forced it out of his head.

The white t-shirt lying scattered on the floor near the bedroom doorway suddenly popped everything back.

Bringing the cloth to his face, Zoro inhaled the painfully familiar scent. Cigarettes, musk, shaving foam, spices – the scent he breathed in every day for so long was barely lingering on the cloth. Soon it would disappear completely, only a memory of it would remain.

Still holding the shirt in his fingers, Zoro lay down onto the bed. Unusually cold blankets wrapped around him unfriendly, causing his chest to tighten. Exhaling a strained breath, he tried to get used to deafening silence. No occasional laughs, no noisy babbling, no tender murmuring into his ear.

He had no idea his life without Sanji would become so empty.


	4. Chapter 4

The hands on Sanji's hips tightened their firm grip. The blond threw his head back, feeling tickling warmth in his muscles as he moved faster. Spreading his fingers on the tan chest, he looked down at Zoro's face. That face, full of desire and heat, never failed to arouse him incredibly. Sanji rode smoothly, watching as the swordsman's brows knitted in pleasure, eyes closed, lips parted. Their breaths became sharper when Zoro started to move upwards, meeting the blond's thrusts from below. His cock was sliding inside Sanji so overwhelmingly good, bringing him closer and closer to the point where his head would spin, everything in the world forgotten. Everything but Zoro.

"All good?" the green haired man smirked, but that cocky grin was instantly erased and replaced by a hanging jaw as Sanji brought himself down on the shaft.

Lowering himself to the man's face, Sanji brushed his lips over his sweated neck, rolling his hips in a slower rhythm.

"Fucking great," Sanji whispered right into his ear, his tongue lingering on the earlobe.

A low groan escaping his throat, Zoro slid his hand down to where their bodies met. He gripped the blond's length in a fist, circling the head with his thumb. Sanji wasn't able to suppress a moan that his lungs let out.

"And now?" Zoro husked, dark eyes gazing into Sanji's.

"Shut up and keep going." He gripped Zoro's arm, feeling blissful pressure in his crotch.

Wrapping his free arm around the blond's waist, the swordsman moved his lower body rapaciously, slamming his cock hard and deep into Sanji. The blond gripped Zoro tighter, his hips jerking to meet the man's hand, which was stroking him so fast and so good. The pressure inside his cock became unbearable for him to handle when Zoro squeezed right below the head, his hand pumping in a perfect rhythm that he knew Sanji enjoyed the most.

His thighs trembling, the blond thrust his hips down strongly to get Zoro's whole length in. Sanji noticed Zoro's face twitching, his breaths mixing with moans, sharpening as if he was right there.

A final pound, a strong pump of the hand, and they came one after another, roaring and cursing in ecstatic agony. Sanji loosened his fingers on Zoro's arm, and Zoro freed the blond's softening cock from his hold. But he never removed his arm from the blond's waist.

"Sanji," he murmured as his breath steadied.

"Hm," the cook nuzzled into Zoro's neck, exhausted.

"I love you."

Sanji stirred under the blanket, groaning slightly, slowly opening his eyes. His muscles instantly reminded him about the previous night, as well as the surroundings. Tasteless, bright orange walls and a yellow couch he was lying on definitely didn't belong to his apartment. Well, he didn't belong to any apartment anymore.

Rubbing his swollen eyes, Sanji lifted himself on one elbow. He stared into space for several moments, blinking blankly and trying to remember the dream he'd been watching just before waking up.

It was a pleasant dream, but something about it was making the cook's chest tight even if he couldn't properly recall what it was about. Scratching the back of his head, he stood up and headed to the bathroom.

Opening the tap, he realized he'd left his toothbrush _there_. God damn it, his mouth tasted like shit and definitely was smelling even worse. On top of that, an enormous thirst hit him hard and forced him to flee to the kitchen and dry a half of a carafe. Greedy gulps made his throat turn into lump, but the need for water was winning against the uncomfortable sensation.

"Good morning," Usopp yawned from the doorway.

Swallowing a mouthful of water, Sanji nodded. His morning was by all means not good, but it had nothing to do with Usopp after all.

"Do you have an unused toothbrush?" Sanji asked the sleepy guy, wiping his mouth with a heel of his hand.

"Yeah, lucky you," Usopp warmed up his neck with a light crump. "Grab it from the medicine drawer, it's packed."

"Thanks," the blond forced a small smile, passing by the doorway.

Sanji felt a little better after the refreshing procedure, even though his muscles were still numb, his head throbbed, and his eyes hurt as if he had a dozen of needles in his eyeballs.

He hadn't slept much after his sudden arrival to Usopp. A couple of hours went on venting his rage and explaining what happened. The long-nosed guy listened quietly with a scowl on his face that deepened as Sanji's story unfolded. He didn't say anything to reassure Sanji, he was just lending him a comforting shoulder that the cook indeed needed a lot.

The blond felt embarrassed that he'd disturbed his friend in a middle of a night and threw all his personal problems to his face out of the blue. Not knowing a better way to apologize and to express gratitude, Sanji came to a conclusion that he could at least make breakfast. Savory, flavorsome, delicious breakfast. Usopp would be happy for sure.

Returning to the kitchen, Sanji found his friend deep in his notes. Usopp was a motor mechanic, and he was rarely seen not drafting or scribbling in his notepad, his tongue sticking out, face concentrated. So, Sanji ran into that tense Usopp who was far away from the kitchen or anything around for that matter.

Sanji was always welcomed as a cook in his every friend's kitchen, so he didn't bother to distract the long-nosed guy from his business. Usopp's fridge was a fridge of a single man – Sanji barely found something edible among cans of beer. Taking out a couple of eggs, bacon and a tomato, the cook got started on his work.

Washing, slicing, stirring – preparing meals somehow felt soothing. Knocking the eggs from their shells into the bowl, he scratched his chin and peeked into the refrigerator again. Some milk remained there, and fortunately, it hadn't even soured and was right enough. He poured the milk into the bowl and then took stripes of bacon. The pan he had set was already hot enough, and when the bacon touched the oiled surface, it sizzled slightly, like when tobacco sizzles as you're inhaling the first morning drag.

Sanji flinched, his eyebrows rising. Damn that hangover, he'd almost forgotten what would reanimate him. A pack he'd put into a pocket of the sweatpants that Usopp had given him crumpled a bit, but the cigarettes were fine. Placing one stick between his lips and lighting it up, Sanji enjoyed a lungful of bitter smoke.

Finishing the cigarette, he sighed with relief. The bacon was of a nice brown color when he upturned it. Sanji knocked another egg into the pan, then shook the mass for the omelet in the bowl, sliced tomato into tiny pieces and poured the ingredients onto the side of the pan. Sunny side up for himself, tomato omelet for Zo–

Holy shit.

"Usopp." His eyebrow twitched as he swallowed nervously. "Do you mind tomato omelet?"

"No, why would I?" the long-nosed guy wondered, still not raising his eyes from the sketch. "Everything you cook is great, Sanji."

"Thanks," the blond let out a small sigh.

Probably, his hands were just moving automatically. Doing the same task almost every morning would form quite a habit after all. Having eggs in front of him, of course Sanji would focus on the task of doing one sunny side up and one tomato omelet. Because Zoro liked tomato omelet, and Sanji was living with him for a pretty long time.

Was he really so used to all the habits he gained while being together with that moss-head? Would he be able to get rid of them, throw them away like a thing he'd get bored of and didn't need anymore? Like he threw Zoro away from his life the previous night?

A disturbing feeling crept into his chest, tightening it the same way it did when he'd woken up today. When he had that dream... Now he was unfortunate to recollect it – so unfortunate that even the tiniest details painted the whole image in his head. Zoro's face, his eyes looking at Sanji with some sort of weird admiration, his hands that were so palpable despite it was just a dream. He would never feel Zoro's skin again, never inhale the scent of his sweat, touch his lips, see that small smile...

Sanji was inwardly convincing himself that the tickling in his eyes was just an accidental spark or not enough evaporated smoke or fucking anything but not that what suddenly possessed his mind so strongly, making his heart ache as if its flesh was tearing apart, slowly, ripping into small pieces, bit by bit.

"Sanji?" Usopp shook his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The blond blinked, gripping his fork. He didn't notice when he'd finished preparing the meal and set the plates onto the table. Neither did he notice when Usopp had managed to wipe his plate clean. His own one, however, was untouched.

"Yes, I'm okay," he cleared his throat and sent a piece of egg into his mouth. Somehow it didn't have any taste.

"Tell me if something is wrong," Usopp glanced at him worriedly.

Chewing seemed like a routine he didn't enjoy at all. Swallowing was difficult, his mouth and throat were dry and numb.

"Coffee or tea?" Usopp asked from the counter. Again, Sanji didn't notice when the guy had stood up from the table.

"Coffee, please," the blond muttered, peering into his filled plate.

It was still filled when the long-nosed guy placed two cups of black coffee on the table.

"Usopp," Sanji turned to him, yet trying not to look straight into his eyes. "Do you want my portion?" He moved his plate to the side.

Brow raising and jaw hanging open, Usopp took the offered plate.

"Sure, thank you," he muttered. "But–"

"I'm sorry, Usopp, I just..." A strained sigh escaped Sanji's lungs, and he reached to the cigarette pack. "Tolerate me a few days while I'm searching for a new apartment, okay?"

"Oh, what are you talking about." Usopp rolled his eyes, cheeks puffy from a mouthful of food. "I told you, you can stay as much as you need."

A small smile raised Sanji's lips, so faint compared to the guy's toothy grin.

The rest of the breakfast went in silence. Sanji was sipping on his coffee, smoking, trying to force all the grim thoughts out of his head. Which, by the way, still throbbed like hell.

In that dream Zoro said he loved him. It was so ridiculous to think about it now, but the truth was, Zoro actually never said Sanji that he loved him. He might've said Sanji looked fine in a new suit (adding something nasty to laugh the blond off) or that his cooking was edible (not tasty, not gorgeous, as Sanji would like to hear). Zoro never directly confirmed his feelings – if he even had any feelings for the blond.

Sanji frowned deeply, taking another drag from the cigarette. Well, not that Sanji ever told Zoro something like that himself. He wasn't sure if he was feeling something so special about Zoro in the first place. Yes, he liked Zoro nearby. Sometimes. Most of the time the idiot swordsman was pissing him off. Not to mention how apathetic that ungrateful bastard was. Sanji could imply his want for some (just some) attention into anything, but the dumb moss-head always kept being so oblivious.

Sanji never asked for any help directly, but Zoro never offered it to him as well. Sanji was doing his best for Zoro – cooking for him, waking him up when he was late for work, driving him there when he was ridiculously late, massaging his shoulders before bed and kissing his forehead with a "goodnight". But Zoro was just quietly accepting everything for granted. As if Sanji would always be by his side.

Ungrateful, egoistic, useless moron.

The blond wondered if their relationship – such a failure – was just nothing more than a habit. Back then, after that fateful fight in the Baratie, Sanji felt a strong urge to see the bastard again. And he was quite happy when the moss-head popped up there next time. From the very beginning Sanji was the one to lead them – he didn't know where, though. At first he just wanted Zoro to be his – a selfish desire indeed, but he tried, oh how hard he tried not to force the other man. And in the end Sanji couldn't say if he wasn't forcing Zoro into a relationship with him. After their first sex Zoro didn't call him, Sanji was the one who called first. Several days before that were filled with obscure thoughts, but then he was just too happy that Zoro agreed to meet with him again, and he foolishly forgot his issues. _What an idiot I was._

Routine never did anything good to anybody, Sanji knew it. He couldn't justify himself when he offered Zoro to live together (and again – Zoro only nodded was all), he just _felt_ he wanted it. Needed it, maybe. And now... Now everything was in ruins.

"Sanji," the voice sounded from the hall. "I'm going to the store, do you need anything?"

"A pack of Marlboro Gold," the blond answered. "And a razor."

"What about food?"

Sanji closed his eyes. Somehow even the thoughts about food were irregularly dispersed in his head.

"Grab anything you want, I'll manage."

"Okay!"

Opening his wallet to give Usopp the cash for purchase, Sanji felt cold in his gut. Fifty buck bill was lying in there bashfully. Picking it up and handing it to Usopp, the blond frowned.

Sure, he had rent money left on his card. Although since he wouldn't be living in that apartment anymore, it was pointless to keep them for this purpose. The rent for it wasn't very high for two people to handle, but for one person it would be a bit pricey. Would Zoro be able to manage with it by himself? Or maybe he'd move too, since it was too big for him? Not that it was Sanji's business now.

He turned Usopp's laptop on to look through vacant places to live. However, it seemed today the cook was out of luck.

Too pricy for such a small place. He chewed on the unlit cigarette discontentedly, scrolling the pages further. Too far from work. Pricy. Holy shit, that one was just insanely expensive.

Sanji lit the cigarette, scratching the back of his head. Somehow, he'd already forgotten that the previous apartment was found by pure luck and Nami's clever advice. This time it seemed that Lady Luck had left him. Was she disappointed with him? Did he offend her?

Well, if Sanji thought carefully, it was a little unfair to leave Zoro like it had been his own decision. But then, Zoro's never-ending stupidity, poor manners, dumb excuses, general obliviousness made Sanji reach his boiling point. He wasn't going to waste his life on the bastard who couldn't even wash a cup for himself. How would Zoro even feed himself? Before they met, it seemed that the moss-head was living only on instant noodles and beer. If not Sanji's kindness, he'd die from gastritis. If people could die of it, of course. He wasn't sure.

But really, how would Zoro manage by himself? Sanji's limbs ached disturbingly when he thought about the awkward swordsman trying to cook, clean that enormous apartment or, god forbid, pay the rent. But screw that, Sanji had enough of his own problems – all thanks to the green haired moron, he'd never have those without his kind help.

Usopp's return was indicated with a rustle in the hall and cheerful voices, one of which was feminine. Sanji jumped from the chair, hopping to greet the precious lady.

"Miss Nami!" He outstretched his arms with a wholehearted smile as soon as the red haired girl came to his vision.

"Hi," she smiled at him brightly and reached into her jeans pocket. Sanji's eyes widened as she handed him a small box. "Happy birthday, Sanji," she added, probably noticing his surprise.

"Oh, thank you so much, my beloved princess!" the blond bowed. "I will never forget your graciousness!"

Usopp snorted, handing him the ordered pack of smokes.

With all the nervous events Sanji had already forgotten it was his birthday yesterday. They sat in the living room, eating the cake that Nami picked so that Sanji wouldn't need to cook anything – what a lovely, kind person she was.

"Do you have anything to drink, guys?" she asked after finishing her piece.

"Beer," Usopp shrugged.

"That's just fine," Nami beamed at him. Usopp got up to go to the kitchen, rubbing his nose sheepishly.

When he quit the living room, Nami shifted on the couch closer to Sanji. Putting her soft, little hand onto his forearm, she looked straight into his eyes. The blond tried to force out a smile, but the lowered corners of Nami's lips and her serious eyes only enchained him to the seat, tense and uncomfortable.

"He told me." She nodded her head slightly in the direction of the door. "Sanji, why did you do that?"

The blond lowered his eyes. He definitely didn't want to discuss this thing now, especially with such a stunning lady. But he realized how adamant Nami was when her nails dipped into his skin.

"Sanji, listen," she blew a red lock off her nose. "I know you both are stubborn to death, but this is just wrong."

"What's wrong? That he's–"

"No, I'm talking about _you_!" she snapped, her gaze sharp. "I know you can be too emotional sometimes, and you don't know what you're doing."

"Well... Maybe, but this is another case," Sanji uttered reluctantly, frowning.

"No, it's not," Nami caught his chin and forced him to look at her. "I'm dead sure you just let your rage out without thinking. From what Usopp told me, it doesn't seem like such a big deal. Just try to look at the situation from Zoro's point of view – it's not his fault, and you know it, you're just willingly ignoring it."

Sanji was listening silently, peering into the dark brown eyes that looked at him with disappointment.

"It's all just circumstances," she sighed, her brows knitted distressfully. "You should do something before you regret."

"Nami, it's not your business," Usopp's voice sounded from the doorway. With his hands full of bottles, he approached the couch and sat down.

"Not my business?" The red haired girl freed Sanji from her grip and turned abruptly to the long-nosed guy. "My friends are breaking up, Usopp! It _is_ my business!" Her voice rose higher.

"You can't change his mind, it's his decision," Usopp scowled at her, opening the bottle and handing it to Sanji.

"How can you be so cold?" Nami picked up a beer and took a large gulp. "They are more important to each other than they think! Don't you see they're making a mistake?"

"Please, can we discuss it later?" Sanji uttered sullenly. Nami's face softened, and she squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Sanji," she said quietly. "Just... Just think about it carefully."

Sanji did want to reply that there was nothing to think about, but somehow the words stuck down in his throat.

Both Nami and Usopp were people of mood, so soon they were chatting cheerfully while the amount of bottles was decreasing. The cook was holding the conversation discretely, his mind wandering off. "_They are more important to each other than they think!" _These were strange words to hear from Nami, especially since she'd never shown any interest in Sanji's relationship with Zoro. She had always been distant, even when they bickered at the parties or fought. How could she come up with this conclusion then? Moreover, how could she know anything about them better than Sanji did?

Sipping on his beer and listening to the conversation with half an ear, Sanji noticed it was already 9 PM. His body instantly registered that information, giving him heavy fatigue and light throbbing in his head.

"I need to go," Nami stated, drying the remains of her beer.

"I'll see you to the station," Sanji stood up, but a small hand caught him by his wrist and forced him back onto the couch. The red haired girl possessed quite a strength for her small size.

"Don't bother, you need to rest," she smiled. "Usopp can see me off, right?" She turned to the guy, grinning somewhat evilly.

Rolling his eyes, Usopp stood up without struggle. He knew Nami wouldn't let go even if he refused.

"I'll be right back, do you need anything?" the long-nosed guy asked Sanji when they were standing in the hall.

"No, thanks," the blond waved his hand.

"Let's go?" Usopp poked Nami's shoulder after she laced her shoes.

Sanji looked into Nami's eyes. The girl answered his gaze with a small nod.

"Usopp, give us a moment," she asked the guy with a smile. He shrugged and disappeared behind the front door.

"Nami," Sanji crossed his arms on his chest, biting the inside of his cheek. "What did you mean when you said... That we don't know how important we are?"

To his slight surprise, Nami chuckled.

"I meant you're two idiots," she patted his shoulder.

"No, how did you know about... importance?" he winced at the pricking in his stomach.

"Well, it's obvious when you look at it from the side."

"Why do you–" he cut himself off, not knowing how to explain his disagreement.

Nami smiled distantly. "Sometimes you don't even realize how you feel, but when you lose it, you feel like a part of you is missing."

"Nami, it's cold, hurry up!" Usopp's exasperated yelling sounded from the outside.

"Okay!" she shouted and turned to Sanji once again. "Everything is gonna be alright," she beamed at him and left.

Sanji lit up a cigarette, staying where he stood shouldering the wall. A missing part... Was the emptiness in his chest not just a sudden crush of a habit, but the loss of something that he treasured? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore.

But lying on the couch in the dark, he knew one thing for sure: it was hard to fall asleep without Zoro's warm arms wrapped around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Sacramento Kings and Denver Nuggets were going nose to nose. After the first quarter, which ended with a slight advantage for Sacramento, Zoro opened his fourth beer. Drinking without any snack was a bit lame, though he'd been used to it before. A thought that soon he'd run out of drink crossed his mind. He'd woken up late and didn't have enough time to go and pick anything up in the store before the match had started. Falling asleep appeared to be hard, and he closed his eyes only when the first sunrays tore the brightening sky.

His sleep was unnerving, disturbing dreams that he couldn't recollect didn't allow him to rest. So, even sleeping till 1 PM didn't help him to get rid of exhaustion.

When he and Sanji were discussing their plans for the cook's birthday – that mostly consisted of being lazy for two days – they agreed to watch that basketball match. The cook wasn't a big fan of sports, unlike Zoro, but every time they'd been watching broadcasts of football, baseball, basketball – whatever, Sanji would always pick the opposite team to cheer for. He did that on purpose, Zoro knew. Everything that could make a competition always made Sanji excited to strike a rivalry. So, knowing Zoro was cheering for Denver, Sanji grinned and said _"Sacramento would beat their blue-golden asses for sure, they're Kings, after all"_. Of course the cook blurted that only to get under Zoro's skin, but now, seeing Denver's backlog, Zoro couldn't help but repeatedly listen to the cocky voice inside his head.

Something in Sanji's never-ending cocksureness, in his playful insults and fights was funny, Zoro had to admit. Watching the match without the blond's nasty remarks and snorts was somewhat boring.

Zoro had actually never thought about yielding in their so-called rivalry. If Zoro had to be honest, Sanji was utterly better than him in many ways. But he would never admit it, and the thought ate him from within. The cook was nice with people, not with Zoro though, but he never was unreasonably rude with his friends. Zoro in his turn had always felt awkward in crowds. In places where he happened to turn up and knew nobody, for example, when the cook invited him on some of their foppish events in the Baratie, he felt absolutely out of place. Trying to stay with the only person he knew – the cook – ended with receiving Sanji's scowls and constant _"I'm busy"_.

Not knowing how to act around strangers, how people could even get acquainted if it wasn't for a chance, Zoro had no idea how he managed to come together with the blond. An obvious extravert, friendly and good-mannered, Sanji was a pile of traits Zoro never possessed and couldn't understand how to deal with. Well, their friend Luffy, who was hands down the friendliest guy in the world, was an exception, since Zoro had gotten to know him so long ago he couldn't even remember the time without the goofy black haired dork around.

But Sanji was another story. He enjoyed talking, a lot. Even in a company of not the closest friends he could always strike a conversation and never looked unconfident. Although he would turn into a babbling some cheesy bullshit mass in front of a girl, but normally the blond was a shining example of self-confidence. Which always made Zoro roll his eyes in irritation.

He didn't envy the cook's social abilities, no. He just felt uneasy and maybe a little – just a little – jealous. What made the blond stick to him was beyond Zoro's comprehension from the very beginning. Zoro had to admit that in everything beyond swordsmanship he was hardly better than average. He wasn't talkative, wasn't a great buddy who'd cheer everyone and make their miserable lives vivid and meaningful. In fact, Zoro was so self-conscious with people that he preferred to stay silent rather than blurt out some bullshit. He just didn't see any reason to communicate with people non-stop. Maybe that was one of the reasons Sanji got bored of him.

The second quarter ended all of a sudden for Zoro, as well as his beer. This time Denver outran the self-proclaimed Kings, but somehow it didn't bring the green haired man any joy. Using the advertisement break, he headed to the kitchen only to discover that he'd run out of beer. Among the food everything was sad as well. The remains of the meat he'd already eaten after waking up had been the only cooked dish. A piece of a chocolate cake was out of question since Zoro never was a fan of sweets. Well, he found frozen shrimps, some tomatoes, a dozen of eggs, greens, some bacon, an uncooked chicken and a bottle of milk in the fridge, but he was a bit unsure of his cooking skills since he hadn't been preparing food by himself for two years already. _Who am I, a child?_ Zoro snorted at himself, taking the shrimps out.

If he remembered correctly, they had to boil for several minutes, and then they'd be done. What could be easier, huh.

Setting a water-filled pot on fire, Zoro put the shrimps there and returned to watch the match. He looked at the wall clock, noting to himself that in ten minutes he would have to go and turn the fire off.

In the end of the third quarter his nose caught a strong reek from the kitchen.

No, seriously, how could the cook make everything so easy it looked like wizardry? With smooth moves of his thin finger Sanji was able to make a delicious masterpiece out of raw meat and fresh vegetables.

After scraping the burned pot, Zoro peered at the remaining mass suspiciously, which was least of all looking like shrimps. Noting to himself to never leave a cooking meal on fire while watching TV, Zoro chewed the tasteless food. Of course he'd forgotten to put salt into the boiling water.

When he finished his miserable lunch – or early dinner, more likely – the match had already ended. Denver Nuggets came out victorious with a difference of just three points. Sighing and sitting down onto the couch, Zoro came to a conclusion that he should train. His body, however, was so heavy and numb that he couldn't even imagine doing push-ups now. It was nearly his only responsibility, and he couldn't force himself. What a shame.

The vibration of the phone in his sweatpants made him jump on the spot. Maybe the cook was calling to ask if Zoro was at home – he hadn't picked his stuff yet, and no courier came yesterday, so...

'_Yosaku'_ the screen read.

"Yes!" the green haired man snapped.

"Hi, bro!" the cheerful voice greeted him. "Watcha doing? 've you seen how the Nuggets owned the Kings?"

"Yosaku, what do you want?" Zoro asked flatly, feeling a wave of rage inflaming his muscles.

"Oh, yeah, me and Johnny are going to the bar, you wanna join?"

"No."

"Why not, bro?" Yosaku whined, drawling. "We're going back to the voyage tonight, wanted to hang out with you for a bit!"

Well, even if the swordsman wasn't in the mood for dealing with those two idiots, he hadn't any booze left or any willpower to train, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

"Okay, where?" Zoro sighed, and instantly his ear was pierced with gleeful laughter.

* * *

Two pairs of overwhelmed brows rose at him.

"Seriously? Just like that?" Johnny smashed the tankard over the wooden desk. The bartender shot him a glare that he ignored completely.

"Dude, that's too tough even for Blondie!" Yosaku frowned, gulping his beer down and putting it onto the counter for refilling.

Zoro sighed quietly, twisting a pistachio between his fingers. The stubborn bean wouldn't open even after the swordsman gnawed at it. His jaw was still too numb to bite harder.

"Anyway." Johnny dipped his fingers onto his temples. "All of this isn't your fault, why would he break up with you just because of," he glanced shortly at his friend, "us?"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Zoro put the pistachio aside and took a sip of beer. It was his fifth for the evening and ninth for the whole day.

"You two have nothing to do with this," he uttered reluctantly. He had no intention of talking about it from the beginning, and he'd probably have succeeded in being silent if only the two stubborn buddies didn't drown him in questions about his bruised, unshaved face.

"No, we have!" Yosaku slapped his palms over his knees enthusiastically. "You got late only because of us!"

"Yes, we are the guilty party here!" Johnny assented, hitting his poor tankard over the desk once again. The bartender narrowed his eyes at him with unhidden grudge.

Zoro scratched his stubbly chin. Why didn't he notice that annoying itching when he was still at home?

"He said I'm always like this," the green haired man forced out. Sanji's words wouldn't get out of his head the whole previous night, playing back like on a broken recorder, squeezing his gut with disturbing coldness.

"Like what?" Johnny snorted. Yosaku nodded vigorously, cheeks puffed from beer.

"Like..." Zoro pondered.

He hadn't actually looked that deep. Really, him returning late wouldn't be enough to get Sanji that mad, even if it was his birthday (and Zoro had to admit it was really awful of him to be late for the date). Under normal circumstances the blond would probably start a quarrel, throw several discontented remarks, but that would be all. So, what could really make Sanji not only become so enraged, but determined to break up, seriously and without any doubts?

"Bro!" Johnny shook his shoulder, wakening Zoro from his trance. "What's with that face?"

"No, I just... I don't know what the real reason is."

Johnny and Yosaku exchanged uncomprehending looks and drew their tankards upside-down to their mouths.

"Didn't he tell you?" Yosaku asked, grabbing a handful of pistachios.

"Nothing coherent," Zoro absently peered at his boots.

Although when the cook had called him – they'd been sitting in the same bar and even on the same barstools, Johnny and Yosaku all tipsy and yelling chanties wholeheartedly – he'd already sounded angry. Zoro had to cut him some slack though – suddenly learning that the promised date would be delayed wasn't anything near satisfying. And Zoro hated to break his promise – he valued a man's word after all – but then, after Johnny and Yosaku, his friends since the middle school, had joined the sailor ranks, he didn't have an opportunity to see them often. And Sanji knew it perfectly well. And he'd still been pissed.

Well, the cook had never been anything close to a rationalist. Emotions drove him in whatever he was doing. Overly friendly with girls, eagerly loyal to his friends and ready to punch any offender's face, unmerciful to rude customers and unbelievingly polite to the nice ones – Sanji was a mixture of fire-fueled feelings. Often it played a havoc with him: how many times he was about to be fired despite his boss was his adoptive father, how many women were disgusted with his annoying chivalry, how many innocent noses were broken with his swift kicks... Doing before thinking was his life-style. No regrets – going only forward, no backing off, no conceding. But for Zoro, who bit through the blond's stubborn defenses to his core, there was an exception – at least he thought so. Sanji knew Zoro wouldn't play by his rules either, that the swordsman wouldn't accept his energetic pressure without resistance. The reason was simple – they were both the same, yet different in a way.

So the cook never bothered to be polite with Zoro. The nicest addressing the green haired man received from the blond was his name, a rare word to hear in the blond's hypnotizing baritone. Insults were so common for them both that Zoro was sometimes dazed and lost when people asked him about _'Sanji'_. He didn't know how to name his companion in a conversation with friends since Sanji's name had become something so intimate that he flinched every time Nami or Usopp or Chopper pronounced it. Something pinched his skin with invisible forceps when he heard the cook's name from a foreign mouth. _He's mine_ – words repeated in the swordsman's head, making his breath sharper, his face tougher. But at the same time Zoro always knew that Sanji wasn't his.

He might've wanted the cook to be in his possession – selfish, but he was desperate and unbending in his desires. Although in Zoro's concept, to own somebody didn't require making a person his slave, of course. He was just... afraid to lose the one who was important to him.

And Sanji was the most important person to him.

A vein pulsing in his forehead made his head spin. Cold sweat dripping off his back, fingers clenching into fists and unclenching, Zoro felt his unseen, unfocused eyes widen. Frighteningly palpable claws clenched his heart tight.

"Bro, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Dude, are you okay?"

He heard the concerned voices – muted, distant.

_Who am I then, a stranger?_

Sanji had been cooking the most delicious food for him. Sanji had been spending all his free time with him. Sanji had been ready to drop his every important business just to talk to Zoro. Sanji could demand a day-off from the old man he wasn't in the best relations with _just_ to be together with Zoro.

That man with his stupid swirly eyebrows and pompous clothes, with his cocky grin and sarcastic remarks, with his sharp tongue and deadly legs – Sanji was Zoro's best friend, his brother, his lover, his soulmate and the most important human being in the world.

And Zoro let himself lose Sanji.

"I need to go," he threw quickly to Johnny and Yosaku, who'd already given up on the talk and argued loudly about something.

"Where? Why?" Johnny turned to him.

"Wait, bro, we–"

"I _need_ to go," Zoro repeated sharply and ran out of the bar.

The dusk welcomed him outside with drizzling rain. Usually crowded streets were wiped clean with the chill. As ill luck would have it, no taxies were around, and it was pretty far to the metro station. _Since Luffy still isn't in the town, he should be with Usopp._ Shifting his hood up, Zoro hurried to the station, flipping his phone open on the way.

"Yes?" The sleepy voice answered him.

"Usopp, is... Sanji with you?" Zoro asked. He couldn't believe his voice sounded so unconfident.

A long sigh proceeded from the other end.

"He stopped by my place for some time, yes," the long-nosed guy muttered. "But–"

"Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes or so!" The swordsman cut him off, his pace increasing into running.

"Zoro–"

"Don't tell him I'm coming, okay?"

"Zoro!" Usopp raised his voice. "Listen to me. Sanji's away now. He's looking for a new apartment."

Zoro stopped in the middle of the empty road. Cold drops trailed down his face, slipping under his collar.

"Where is it?"

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea," Usopp uttered with noticeable regret.

Hanging up, Zoro came off the road and squatted on the border. His clothes soaked thoroughly, and the merciless wind didn't make it better.

With numb fingers, the green haired man pressed _Call_ next to the name that he used to say so often. To piss him off, to call him from the bedroom when he was in the kitchen, to just make him smile.

_The subscriber's phone is switched off or is out of the coverage area. Please, try to call later._


	6. Chapter 6

Sanji felt worn out after visiting five apartments. The only reason that kept him standing on his feet was the agent whose number he had been lucky to find on some site – a stunning blonde with long legs and a serious but yet so cute face.

"So, what do you think of this one, Mr. Blackleg?" She turned to Sanji, shifting her glasses on her thin pretty nose.

Peering into the price-list, the cook could barely hide a scowl. This exact apartment was located forty minutes away from the Baratie. It would be ridiculous to pay that much for it.

"The kitchen is quite small," he uttered, wearing a forced smile.

"I see," the woman nodded with a barely audible sigh. "Then we have the last one to look at."

Her lovely face twitched slightly, but enough for Sanji to notice.

"Is there any problem with it?" he asked carefully.

"Well..." She narrowed her eyes, hesitating. "Let's go and you'll see by yourself."

Sanji followed the agent out of the apartment complex, down to the parking lot. It was a shame he had to let a lady drive, he definitely needed his Mustang back.

They drove for so long that soon the town's highway changed to a beaten road, country-side style. Sanji observed the gloomy scenery from the passenger's seat: crooked trees without any foliage were growing occasionally by the road, only a few houses reminded of civilization. For a moment Sanji thought that maybe the stunning lady was going to kidnap and ravish him. He wasn't sure he was glad, but he certainly felt a little honored.

"We're here," the blonde turned to him, stopping the car near a large looming house.

Sanji realized why it was the last variant right after he'd got out of the car and got his foot stuck in mud.

"I'm not going there, sorry," the agent winced. Sanji couldn't blame her – walking on the mud with such nice high-heeled shoes would be troublesome.

Getting closer to the house appeared to be such an ordeal that the blond quickly decided it wouldn't be his choice for sure. His shoes were all filthy with dirt, what would happen to his Mustang then? However, it was somehow lame to return without looking. Lighting up a cigarette, the cook entered the house.

Even though it wasn't pitch black outside, the place looked like it was haunted. All the windows were boarded up, planks creaking under his feet. He took his phone out to illuminate the darkness at least a bit. Now Sanji recalled that one of the apartments on the list had cost so little it was almost ridiculous to refuse. Seeing the house with his own eyes assured him otherwise.

The kitchen was large, but nothing about it could be called comfortable. It looked like a butcher's from some cheap horror movie, and for a moment Sanji wondered if maybe those suspicious stains all over the counter were real blood.

The stairway to the second floor was so broad it reminded him of abandoned vampire mansions. The blond stepped onto it cautiously – it gave a prolonged whine under his foot. Carefully moving upstairs, he leaned on a railing. Something tickled his fingers, he shifted his gaze and instantly regretted fucking everything.

His scream was way too high-pitched for a twenty-five year old man. Jerking his hand away from a giant ugly spider on the railing, he dropped his phone. The hit was muffled by a hundred year old layer of dust.

"Shit!"

He stumbled in blind darkness, falling on his ass somewhere that felt (after the strike of pain) like the beginning of the stairway.

Now it was so dark that Sanji couldn't see his own hands. Bumping into objects on his way, Sanji backed off somewhere he remembered the front door was. Finally, his fingers touched a door handle, and he pulled it so hard it could probably come off.

Not only had it become dark outside – it was raining. The mud his shoes were squishing was so marshy he barely managed to get to the car.

"How did you like it?" the woman asked him matter-of-factly from the driver's seat.

Panting, he leaned over to the window.

"A bit too far from work."

* * *

He barely managed to wake up next morning. Exhausted after his miserable trip, Sanji cursed everything in the world (except for the pretty blonde agent). Not only he didn't get any apartment, he lost his phone and now had to buy a new one. When he returned yesterday, long after midnight, Usopp had been waiting for him in the kitchen, sleepy and disheveled, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Sanji barely managed to utter.

"Chose something?" the long-nosed guy asked huskily.

"No. Sorry, Usopp, I can't cook dinner right now, I'll die if I don't sleep."

With fading attention Sanji did notice Usopp's scowl, noticed his friend opened his mouth to speak, but Usopp only sighed. Immediately the cook fled off to his bed – the yellow couch. He needed to wake up in four hours.

In the morning his eyes were closing unconsciously while he was standing under the hot shower. Since Usopp lived farther from the Baratie than Sanji used to, and since his Mustang was still on the parking lot, the blond woke up at 5 AM. Of course, he didn't gain any rest from his short, messed nap. Strangely so, being beaten with fatigue to the core, he still couldn't pass out even with his eyes closed. A chain of weird semi-dreams, semi-hallucinations kept him somewhere on the edge between sleep and consciousness. He couldn't recollect all the weird imageries that had been flowing into his mind, but he was disturbingly aware that Zoro featured in all of them.

Having brushed his teeth and shaved his face, the blond hurriedly put on his two days far from fresh shirt, slacks and a new tie that was in the box Nami had gifted him. It didn't match that exact outfit well, although he had only that one now. The change was still _there_.

He needed to go and take his belongings. Today.

Going by the crowded metro wiped his drowsy state instantly. Occasionally stomping on his feet people, the hangover smell – long-standing friend of Monday mornings, gloomy faces around – it was somewhat worse than being stuck in a traffic jam. In his own car he could turn on the radio and peacefully sip on the coffee, even being slightly annoyed with unbearably slow pace. _Today, right after work._

The Baratie greeted him with familiar noises all over the place: chefs roaring curses, waiters fussing before the opening and clatter of utensils. As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, his day acquired insanely high speed.

Slicing, frying, boiling, stirring and stewing – Sanji didn't even notice when his lunch break had started. But before he could fly off to smoke, a grumpy voice from behind made him jump on his spot.

"Eggplant!" Zeff snapped loudly.

Rolling his eyes, the cook turned to his boss and his father all at once.

"What?"

"Why the hell was your phone off yesterday?"

Sighing, the blond got prepared for a long lecture. Screw lunch – he'd only manage to smoke since the geezer looked determined to scold him.

"I'm not a schoolboy anymore," Sanji winced, tapping his toes.

"Cut your cocky behavior," Zeff pointed a knife at him. Probably he just forgot about the sharp object in his hand, but Sanji was used to such rude violations of his private space.

"To put it shortly," the cook took a cigarette from a pack and placed it behind his ear. "I'm moving out, and yesterday I was looking for a new apartment. There I happened to lose my phone, you happy?" He stepped to the doorway, but the grand chef stopped him with his hand.

"I know that," he glared at Sanji.

His eyes widening, the cook suddenly felt the urge to smoke increase.

"I needed to tell you something very important, and since your stupid ass was off, I called that green eggplant," Zeff narrowed his eyes.

"So?" Sanji threw coolly, yet feeling familiar prickling in his gut.

"What the heck are you doing?"

Sanji didn't miss a well-hidden note of concern in the old man's voice.

"I do what I want," the blond sighed exasperatedly, trying to break free from the geezer's grip.

"Moron," Zeff snapped, but his hold loosened. "You can move in here for a while," he added softer.

Being used to the geezer's mood roller-coaster, Sanji just nodded. It wasn't a bad option for now – irritating Usopp would be much worse. And irritating the geezer was his second qualification, after all.

"Thanks," Sanji forced a small smile. "What's that important thing you wanted to tell me?"

"Not telling you now," the old man burst into evil laughter.

Sanji grimaced painfully. What a stubborn geezer Zeff was.

"Please," he more demanded than asked.

"I'll think about it," Zeff waved his hand, implying Sanji was free for now.

Smoking near the back entrance with a bunch of chefs and waiters, Sanji was yet far away from their chatter. What did Zoro say to Zeff? Knowing the shitty swordsman way too well, the cook highly doubted that idiot would explain any details. Most likely, he just said that Sanji moved out was all. Although Zeff's demeanor and his childish refusal to spit the 'important' thing were indicating the geezer might've come up with his own dramatic vision of events. Despite his never-ending insults, the old man was very kind inside. Way too kind, which always made him worry about shit.

The rest of the workday flashed before Sanji's eyes with tons of orders to prepare. Exhausted but satisfied, he took his apron off.

"Sanji," Zeff approached. Without his ridiculously giant chef hat he somehow managed to look even weirder.

"Hm?"

"Remember that bastard Fullbody? He owns a cafe near the beach."

"Of course I remember that bastard's annoying ass," Sanji snorted. "What's the deal?"

Keeping a needlessly long pause, the old man grinned with all his fake teeth.

"He's just got bankrupt."

Sanji couldn't help but burst into laughter. The pesky moron with his shitty coffee shop was their rival for centuries.

"That's fucking great," the cook patted his father's shoulder.

"You still don't know the best thing," Zeff smiled mysteriously. "An important thing."

"_That_ thing? Spill."

"He sells the premises of the former cafe for peanuts."

Sanji's world tumbled down, ripping his quivering gut off and making an excited firework of it. Frozen and wide-eyed, he stared bluntly at Zeff, jaw hanging open.

"On the shore, like you've always wanted," the geezer smirked, his eyes flashing with delight.

Sanji couldn't believe his ears. Was it a joke? Maybe he was daydreaming? Having his own restaurant, especially on the shore – what could be more wonderful than that?

"Zeff, you'd better be telling the truth," Sanji uttered, lighting a cigarette and not even bothering to leave the kitchen.

"No kidding, eggplant."

The cook frowned. Fullbody's cafe was settled in such a great place. Fortunately, Sanji had a special bank account, and hopefully the required sum would be manageable.

"But what if somebody has already..."

"Sanji," Zeff's grin became so wide his gums were visible. "I've already bought it."

"Wha–"

"Happy belated birthday, eggplant," he laughed.

"Holy shit, you damned geezer!"

No, the tinkling in his eyes was only the onion that he'd chopped previously. Giving Zeff a short hug, Sanji bit his lip hard not to choke on a sob. He mumbled 'thank you' quietly, hoping the geezer wouldn't notice his voice was shaking.

"But," the old man became serious again, "you need to build everything from a scratch. It's just a piece of land with ugly walls now."

"Of course, I understand," Sanji nodded, trying to put all his gratitude in the gesture.

"It will be hard, and it will take time."

"I know."

"That's why I'm offering you to move in here for now. Money, you know."

"I know."

But he couldn't bother to think about equipping at the moment. It wasn't anything like a restaurant right now, but it would be _his restaurant_ soon if he worked hard. And he, no doubts, would.

He ran to the metro station like mad. No crowd with grim painted faces could get his spirits down. Grinning like an idiot and humming quietly, he didn't even notice how the stations flashed.

He rushed to the exit, hopping lightly on the stairs. Some people were turning to look at him, annoyed or freaked out, but he couldn't care less.

A loser suddenly won a million dollar lottery at his twenty-five.

Running faster and faster towards the very familiar apartment block, Sanji felt his heart thumping, his blood blooming with airy pleasure, head so light that he couldn't wipe a smile away.

He would come and hug Zoro, apologize, say he'd been such an idiot, cook Zoro a delicious dinner, massage his back after the tiring day of training himself and kids. He'd read him a book aloud to bring him fast into sleep, or, screw that, maybe he'd exhaust him in a better way, his hands all over that perfect tanned body, making the swordsman shiver under the brush of his fingers and lips, and then he would start thrusting into him hard and fast, until Zoro would scream in ecstasy and come.

Seriously, what had gotten into him two days ago? Why was he so mad at Zoro? Heck, he'd just got late because his friends were in trouble, of course he needed to help them! What an egoist Sanji had been, making rushed conclusions that were definitely caused only by his somber mood and thoughts of getting older and paying bills. What a bullshit!

He smiled toothily when the parking lot came into his view. His blue Mustang stood there matter-of-factly, as if nothing happened. And certainly nothing happened, just a mistake, a stupid accident!

Although Sanji did hurt Zoro, physically and emotionally. Probably it would be hard to get the swordsman's forgiveness, but right now nothing in the world seemed impossible for determined Sanji. He would apologize and do anything to make Zoro feel better, to make up for his dumb mistake.

So Sanji thought, inserting his key into the door lock with slightly trembling fingers. It gave up easily, and he instantly jumped into the dark hall.

"Zoro! Zoro, I need to talk to you!"

Switching the light on, Sanji looked around and kicked his shoes off. Zoro's boots weren't anywhere near the door. Maybe the moss-head went to the living room wearing them, oh that idiot.

"Zoro!" He stepped into the living room, turning the lights on in there too. His brow twitched when he saw tons of empty beer bottles scattered all over the coffee table and near the couch. Probably the Marimo got drunk and fell asleep.

"Zoro! I'm sorry, I know I was an ass! C'mon, I need to talk to you!"

In the bedroom an empty disheveled bed gave him an unfriendly look. Next to it lay the bag he packed that day, untouched, exactly like he'd left it two days ago. His – Zoro's originally – white t-shirt was lying on the bed, wrinkled.

Comprehending the situation, the cook sat down onto the edge of the bed. His fingers reached to the t-shirt almost unconsciously.

It smelled like Zoro's skin. Sweat mixed with steel, a note of musk and salt. Inhaling the so painfully familiar scent – the scent of _home_, Sanji closed his eyes.

He waited patiently for an hour, and two, and three. Usually Zoro worked till 4 PM with kids, and then he trained for several hours. It was 10 PM already. Sanji reached his hand into his pocket, but of course there was no phone since he still hadn't bought a new one. Cursing, he dropped his back to the bed helplessly.

Why did he even think he'd be welcomed here in the first place? Maybe the moss-head was happy to finally get rid of Sanji. Because, well, the cook had to admit he liked to get on the swordsman's nerves. He'd always been rude and cocky with Zoro, demanded attention from him, disregarding the fact that the green haired man preferred silence and peace. He'd never actually thought that Zoro would like to be without him better, and now he probably got what he desired.

Except that Zoro had been wearing that t-shirt. That certain t-shirt which Sanji took off himself that night.

Punching his forehead, Sanji bit on his lip, gnawing the flesh so hard it went numb. It was stupid, and he was stupid, and everything was so stupid that he wanted to jump into a time-travel machine and return to that evening. To talk with Zoro calmly, to explain that he was downcasted, but it wasn't Zoro's fault. It all was Sanji's fault for being driven by pure emotion, by mood and the moment. Now Nami's words seemed as right to him as never before.

At half past eleven Sanji stood up from the bed. He'd thought his strategy over. Living only in present, in the exact second, appeared to bring harm to both him and the person who was important to him. The person he never wanted to hurt for real. So, patience would be needed to merit Zoro's mercy.

Leaving the apartment, the bag hanging on his shoulder, Sanji promised himself he would return every day until he'd talk to Zoro. And even if the swordsman really didn't need him in his life anymore, Sanji would take it like a man. After all, he wanted Zoro to be happy, no matter with or without himself.


	7. Chapter 7

"Zoro-sensei, Malcolm told me I'm weak!"

"Of course you're weak, you're a girl!"

"So what? You lost because your arms are growing from your ass, it doesn't matter if I'm a girl or not!"

Zoro sighed at the two noisy kids, lowering his wooden sword and squatting down onto the mat. He had a hard time sleeping the night before, and the students' annoying babbling wasn't doing anything good for the numb throb in his head.

"Jill, go to the locker-room, your dad will pick you up soon," he uttered to the red haired little girl who'd just stuck her tongue out to mock the boy.

"This idiot didn't apologize to me!" she whined, pouting at her teacher.

Rolling his eyes ever so slightly, Zoro grabbed the boy's arm and pushed him a bit closer.

"I'll talk to him, don't worry. Go, go." He nodded his head in the direction of the lockers, and the girl obeyed reluctantly.

The boy stood with confident expression, glaring sullenly at Zoro.

"You know," the swordsman said quietly, "gender doesn't matter in swordsmanship."

"But it matters," Malcolm disagreed. "Women are weaker than men."

"It's questionable." Zoro shrugged, remembering how he'd had an arm-wrestling match with Nami once. Even though he had won, his wrist hurt quite badly for a nice couple of days.

"Then why are you our coach, and not Miss Tashigi?" The boy folded his little arms on his chest.

"Because I'm cooler," Zoro smirked.

"That's because you're a man," Malcolm rolled his eyes as if _he_ was a teacher and Zoro was his oblivious student.

"No, not at all." The green haired man patted his shoulder. "Once I knew a girl who'd been way cooler than me."

"Really?" The boy raised his brow mistrustfully.

"Yeah. No matter how hard I tried, she would always beat me." The swordsman smiled a bit ruefully. "So, if Jill is better than you now, you should just keep training to become better."

"That's stupid," Malcolm splashed his hands dramatically.

"But you wanna be cool?"

"Of course!"

"Then train hard to beat her." Zoro stood up, hearing a distant creak of the front door. "Seems your parents are here to pick you up."

"Goodbye, Zoro-sensei," the kid threw and waved his hand slightly.

"Bye. Don't forget to apologize to Jill."

The boy gave a prolonged whine and ran off from the training hall.

Having got rid of the noisy students, Zoro stretched his limbs, feeling a pleasant crunch in his back. But yet, being alone in the dojo reminded him about the problem that was drilling a hole in his chest and the back of his head.

Yesterday, after failing his attempt to talk to the cook, Zoro took care of picking a dozen of beers in a convenience store and returned home. However, with each new bottle he felt more and more, as much as he hated to admit, sullen and broken.

Sanji was positive about moving out. Usopp's place could be no more than just his temporary dwelling, but if the cook was already searching for a new apartment, he was by all means serious. Zoro was gritting his teeth painfully, gripping on his hair in frustration that there was nothing he could do to fix his stupid mistake. Trying to assure Sanji that Zoro needed him like air, like water, like sunshine on his skin would be absolutely pointless, not to mention egoistic – and that was apparently the original reason of why the blond had left him. Zoro really wanted Sanji to be happy, and forcing the cook into something seemed so terrible that the swordsman could only gnaw at his lips and fingers, drowning in self-loathing.

He wanted Sanji back so badly, but at the same time making the cook talk to him against his will and humiliating himself to gain forgiveness he wouldn't be given anyway was disgusting. A realist as he was, the green haired man couldn't believe he suddenly wanted some wizardry to make Sanji change his mind. Dipping his nails onto his scalp, he hoped everything would magically return to how it had always been: sleeping together, legs intertwined closely, hands clasped in a loose hold, waking up in pleasant laziness, lips brushing over the warm skin, stroking one another's hair with silly, drowsy grins. He would gladly sell his miserable soul just for a chance to hear the cook's merry humming in their kitchen, while Zoro himself would just sit and watch his silhouette highlighted by golden rays of the Sunday's friendly sun.

He'd lost bottle count when his phone suddenly vibrated, his gut flipping so hard he thought he'd throw up from flurry.

"Yes," he husked into the receiver without looking at the screen.

"Where the hell is that shitty eggplant?"

A discontent roar of the well-known old man hit him like a brick into the face. Feeling the nauseatic flopping only increasing, Zoro gritted his teeth and wheezed:

"I have no idea."

"What does that mean, you have no idea? Why did he turn his phone off, pass him yours!"

"I can't," Zoro curled his fingers into a fist, punching his knee unconsciously.

"He's stuck in the shower for hours again, that princess?" the old man snorted.

"No. He's not here."

An exasperated sigh from the other end only made Zoro angrier. The punches he'd been giving to his knee became disturbingly sensitive.

"What the hell is going on?" Zeff asked a bit quieter.

"He's moving out. I don't know much more than you do," the swordsman uttered and hung up, ignoring the old man's stuttered noises.

The blond – that easy-going talker – had never turned his phone off normally. Zoro had called him a couple of hours ago, so it was unlikely that the phone just went off charge. Trying to assure himself that everything was fine – that asshole had just dropped it into a sink or something – Zoro was failing miserably. Several beers later he found himself punching his forehead and his legs in helpless distress.

What if Sanji was kidnapped? Or got hit by a car? Or–

Snapping his phone open, Zoro quickly clicked Usopp's number.

"Yes," this time the voice wasn't sleepy at all.

"Usopp, has he returned?"

"No," the long-nose replied, seemingly no less worried. "I tried to call him, but he's out of range."

"His old man called me not long ago."

"Zeff?" Usopp sounded slightly surprised. Every one of their friends was aware that Sanji was in a tough relationship with his adoptive father. "Jesus, what if something happened?"

"It's better not," Zoro hissed through clenched teeth. "I'll kill him if he dies."

"What?! Zoro, don't say such things!" the long-nose shrieked.

"I mean... Damn it." The green haired man grabbed an empty bottle, twisting it in his hand.

"Zoro, don't worry," Usopp said softer.

"The hell I'd be worried about him."

A tired but gleeful laughter from the receiver made Zoro flinch.

"Guys, you're both so..." Usopp managed through the laughter. "Anyway. I'll message you when he returns, okay?"

"Okay," Zoro rubbed his nose, suddenly feeling fatigue overflowing his aching body. "Thank you, Usopp," he added quieter.

"Oh, no problem," the guy told him cheerfully. "Everything will be alright," he assured before hanging up.

His body beaten and eyelids heavy, Zoro changed his hoodie to Sanji's white t-shirt. Being worn by Zoro for a couple of days, it lost the smell of his cook. Sighing regretfully, Zoro dropped himself onto the bed, face into the pillow. Despite his exhaustion, slumber wasn't in a hurry to own him, and he shifted nervously on cold bed sheets.

Being caught by a drifting darkness but yet still conscious, Zoro heard his phone vibrating noisily on the nightstand. He jumped up eagerly, not able to wait to read the message.

"_Sanji has returned. He looks tired but fine. Goodnight."_

The cook being safe was good news for Zoro. However, only a fraction of his tension dissipated. Drowning in muted regrets, self-hatred and viscid anguish, he was swallowed by restless sleep only in the early morning.

Having slept just a couple of hours gained him dark bags below his eyes as well as dull ache in his muscles. Zoro hated to be lame at work, but he also couldn't catch up with overly energetic kids.

Sitting cross-legged on the mat, he closed his eyes. Steadying his breath, he let the peace flow in his blood, relaxing his every cell. His chest raising and fading slowly, he welcomed a quiet image to the insides of his eyelids.

Perfect calm made the ocean look like a mirror. The mild sun warmed the white sand. The clouds, untouched like on a painting, were frozen on the blue canvas. The water, an embodiment of calmness, had a tendency of changing its state under the riot of its eternal companion – the storm. Wind started abruptly, the air driving everything mad on its way, wild, passionate with rage. The power of destruction it possessed affected the waters, turning them impetuous in their ardent dance.

The blond grinned at him from above, adjusting his hips and gripping into Zoro's hair. His small leg hairs tickled the swordsman's jaw, the hotness of his flesh on Zoro's lips pulsing, demanding to enter. Parting his lips, Zoro licked the head, raising his eyes to Sanji's face – flushed, driving him mad, perfect sexual expression burned the blond's features. Sanji kept biting his lower lip, blocking the sound Zoro was waiting for. Impatient, Zoro slipped his hand in between those powerful thighs and gripped Sanji's tense buttock, guiding him forward, closer, tighter.

He didn't need to be told twice, that greedy cook. Clenching Zoro's hair in his firm fist harder, the blond slipped his length half-way into the man's mouth. Zoro's tongue slid up the cock in his mouth when it hit the roof. Sanji's lips parted, writhed slightly by a groan he couldn't keep hidden this time. Smirking around the hot flesh, Zoro brought his head up, desperate to extract more of these sounds. Sucking harder and faster, he shifted his hand on Sanji's buttock, touching his entrance just with a fingertip.

Tracing the perfect curve of Sanji's hip with the fingers of his free hand, he dipped his finger inside, the pulsing flesh encircling him tightly. The grip on Zoro's hair became less confident, erratic fingers loosened, yet still holding him demandingly. Firm and tough, the cock in his mouth quivered, followed by a whispered curse from the blond's trembling lips.

"Stop moving," Sanji muttered, his voice so rich and deep that Zoro's own cock twitched in anticipation.

Guessing what the blond wanted, Zoro ceased. His finger still rubbed lightly inside Sanji, his tongue teasing the cook with occasional licks. Gasping at steady pleasure, Sanji rolled his hips towards Zoro's mouth, and the swordsman felt an overwhelming wildness when the blond's cock filled his mouth fully, right to the throat. Withdrawing half of his length, Sanji bucked back, letting Zoro's finger slide deeper inside.

Clenching his hand hard on the blond's hip, his nails dipping into the pale skin, Zoro pulled his finger out and pushed it back in roughly. He heard Sanji's panting, heard his teeth gritting and saw his eyelids snapping shut. He saw his eyeballs rolling under his eyelids when Zoro played his tongue over the head in his mouth, thrusting his finger faster and faster with each ravenous suck.

"Zoro," Sanji groaned, his hand shifting from the swordsman's hair to his cheekbone.

Cupping the blond's balls with his palm, he added another finger inside, receiving a long moan. Thrusting his slick cock into Zoro's mouth, Sanji cursed under his breath. As his pace increased, Zoro felt the blond's thighs trembling. Clasping his lips firmer, he sucked on the pulsing length faster, harder, watching his lover's tense face. He could imagine how arousing it was for Sanji to watch his own cock disappear behind Zoro's lips, how blissful was the pressure in his–

"Zoro!"

Holy shit. Throwing his eyes open, the swordsman suddenly realized he was having an enormous boner in his pants. In the dojo. What could be less appropriate for a kendo coach if not fantasizing about being throat-fucked under a disguise of meditation?

He glanced at the doorway abruptly – abruptly enough to look suspicious – where the dojo's secretary was shouldering the doorjamb with the most indignant expression on her bespectacled face. Zoro swallowed thickly, hoping only that she hadn't noticed anything discreditable in his demeanor.

"What did you say to that kid?" she frowned, approaching.

"What kid," Zoro raised an eyebrow obliviously.

The girl squatted down in front of him, rolling her big brown eyes and clasping her fingers on her shin.

"I had been questioning your competence as a teacher since forever," she narrowed her eyes at him. "He told me that," she cleared her throat and spoke higher, imitating a child's voice, "'Zoro-sensei said he's cooler than you!'"

Zoro chuckled, amused. Resting his hands on his knees (totally _not_ attempting to conceal his weakening but still noticeable hardness), he grinned toothily.

"That's true, I am cooler than you."

"Anyway," she shifted her big red glasses on her upturned nose. "I didn't come here to listen to your boasting."

"What's it?" he raised a brow, surprised just slightly. Tashigi had never tried to strike a conversation with him if she wasn't told to do so by Koshiro, and it had always been only about business.

Probably noticing his interest, Tashigi smirked, raising her index finger with obvious smugness.

"Say _'please'_, and I'll tell you," she grinned victoriously, watching as Zoro's face twitched in pain that was almost physical.

"Spit it out," he snapped, folding his arms on his chest.

She shook her dark-haired head in disagreement.

"_Please_," Zoro hissed through clenched teeth, feeling uneasiness unfolding in his stomach.

Satisfied, Tashigi chuckled somewhat evilly.

"Good. Now listen quietly and carefully, cool swordsman. It's very important."

* * *

Zoro ran across the parking lot under the heavy rain. The weather in early March was usually more merciful, but this year the sky was showering the town frigidly.

Snapping the front door wide open, Zoro flew right to the bedroom. Some clothing was shoved into a sport bag recklessly, hurriedly. He moved to the bathroom where he picked all the needed supplies: a razor, a toothbrush, for a moment he pondered if he needed a towel but decided to leave it – he would probably be given one.

In the hall, his feet half in his boots, he suddenly realized he forgot one thing. Hitting himself on the forehead, Zoro returned to the bedroom, picked a large case from under the wardrobe and ran off the apartment, messily locking it and then heading to the parking lot, where Tashigi was waiting for him in her car.


	8. Chapter 8

Sanji kept flouncing between the Baratie and his newborn restaurant under construction. He was almost glad that the geezer had offered him to live on the second floor of the Baratie, and under a concerned gaze of his long-nosed friend Sanji moved in the day after Zeff had told him about his new possession.

The construction was moving so slow it was driving Sanji mad. After the demolition of the former cafe he was slightly surprised to learn how freaking much patience was required for such a simple task – to explain what he wanted from the hired specialists. Smug eyebrows were raised at him from every man under his guidance, and the cook was sick of those contemptuous _"I'm sorry, Mister Blackleg, but the glass walls will cost you more than the rest of what you have planned."_

No, of course Sanji was expecting something like this to happen. He didn't own so much money on his bank account to implement his long-standing dream right there and right now. Gritting his teeth in hidden frustration, he agreed to lay the foundation of the future building at least. He didn't expect it to suck out all of his energy. Fullbody, who had also been flapping nearby with a shit-eating grin on his ugly face for god knew what absurd reason, wasn't making Sanji's temper calmer.

Although even being exhausted to the core, Sanji kept the promise he gave himself. Every day, after all the fuss in both a restaurant and not still a restaurant, the cook returned to Zoro's apartment only to discover it empty.

It seemed that Zoro never returned home since the first day Sanji felt the urge to apologize. A disturbing idea that the swordsman had already moved out was eating Sanji's insides while he was lying on the large bed that once used to be theirs.

Heavy eyelids lowered and hands resting on his chest, Sanji was biting the insides of his cheeks. Of course Zoro didn't want him nearby anymore, who was he trying to fool. Not only did Sanji hit him hard in the face, he hit him hard in his pride, he shattered the fragile bond between them. With his feet. With his words. With his stupid emotional burst that was driving everything around him mad like a storm, like a gust that disturbed peaceful waters. Annihilating, destructing power of being hot-headed. A simple mistake of not thinking before striking an action.

Demolishing appeared to be much easier than creating. Who would have known that such a truism would be so hard to comprehend.

It was almost ridiculous how Zoro's absence in his life painted everything gray. If somebody told him just a week ago that he would be as close to achieving his dream as never before, but it wouldn't bring him any satisfaction, he'd laugh the insane fucker off. Now, biting his nails and dry lips, he'd be damned if this devouring tightness in his chest wasn't his first and foremost sensation.

Without Zoro around, without his stupid quivering smile, without those deep dark eyes looking at him with irritation or amusement, curiosity or belligerence, Sanji wasn't complete. Like a vital limb was ripped off his body, nerves pulled out along with his spine, his tongue tore off his mouth, and he lost the ability to taste. Hollow without guts and cold without blood, Sanji couldn't feel simple happiness anymore. Being close to own the restaurant of his dream now seemed like the stupidest bullshit in the world. Who needed an accomplished goal when his closest person wasn't there to rejoice with him?

One especially mournful day, when the raindrops were knocking onto the misted windows, Sanji was cleaning up, trying to get rid of the thoughts that tormented him. He had no idea how the stupid moss-ball could drown the living room in garbage at such a small period of time: empty bottles and cartons of instant noodles were thrown all over the place, not to mention the dust on every flat surface.

Dusting the bookshelf off, Sanji was caught by a not so thick photo album. Zoro had never been a fan of being photographed, and the blond never forced him to take pictures. All those he'd found in the album were occasional snapshots of them together around their friends. Zoro had a discontent expression on almost every one, corners of his mouth turned down, eyes rolled exasperatedly while Sanji was hugging him with a wide grin. It seemed that those broad shoulders would move away as soon as a photo would be taken, and the swordsman would return to sipping on his beer.

Sanji sighed, flipping through the pages. Whether Zoro looked annoyed or not, something in his frozen demeanor showed that he wasn't so very displeased. That glint in his brown eyes – he couldn't hide it anyway, no matter how hard he'd possibly tried. Perhaps the green haired man just didn't want to be photographed around a bunch of people. Maybe in reality Zoro did want to have mutual photos with Sanji, he was just too nervous about people looking at them together.

Indeed, Zoro had never been an easy-going person. Despite always knowing that, Sanji had been forcing Zoro into crowded places like a cinema or a restaurant, when the swordsman would probably rather enjoy watching the same movie at home. Zoro had never told his complains out loud, but his behavior did show he was a bit uneasy around people. When Sanji had invited him to the Baratie's anniversary party once, the moss-head was looking like a lost child.

Zoro had never shown him neither deep displeasure, nor an approval or delight. And if Sanji looked closer, he'd see that it never meant the swordsman was an emotionless plant. Zoro did have his own inward experiences that he just didn't express way too explicitly. And Sanji had been willingly ignoring those subtle signs, egoistically thinking Zoro was just a dull asshole whose major desire was to ruin Sanji's mood.

If Zoro had never told about his feelings out loud, it didn't mean he was heartless. If Zoro had never expressed his love for Sanji with words, it didn't mean he wasn't experiencing it.

_What a shitty, selfish human being I am. _

Sanji almost choked on a lungful of smoke when his eye caught a photo stuck in between the pages. It wasn't inserted in a binder, but it was certainly the brightest picture in there. Zoro was holding a gold medal in his right hand, clasping fingers of his left onto Sanji's shoulder. Sanji's grin was so wide and stupid it exposed all his teeth. And Zoro... Zoro looked happy. The corners of his eyes wrinkling gleefully, his lids closed, he wore a small but such a sincere, genuine smile that Sanji couldn't help but chuckle weakly.

Always arguing, never able to reach a consensus, stuffed with flaws and general inability to understand each other, they both looked so happy together on that picture. Smoke made Sanji's eyes sore, prickling on his eyelids, swollen from restless nights. Letting out a strangled breath, he put the photo into his chest pocket. Even if their relationship was in ruins, at least he could keep a memory of its bright times. Or so he tried to assure himself when it became impossible to pretend his eyes were aching and watering just from the smoke.

* * *

After having checked the progress of the construction at lunch break of his last work day in a week, Sanji was hurrying to the Baratie doors from the parking lot. Realizing it would be impossible for him to save money for the new restaurant without working extra hours, Sanji asked Zeff to let him work on Saturdays too. The geezer scowled, muttering something about the cook being a workaholic, but agreed nevertheless.

Passing by a call-box, the blond mentally cursed himself. He still hadn't bought a new phone, and the public telephone was his only option for now. He'd learned Zoro's number by heart long time ago – who would've thought he'd need it under such circumstances – but that didn't actually help. The blond was told by the voice mail that his desired subscriber was out of coverage all fifty-seven times he'd called the moss-head. It wouldn't hurt to try for the fifty-eighth time, but his wristwatch showed him he was already fifteen minutes late. Throwing his wasted cigarette into the ashtray and chewing on his lip, Sanji fled to the main entrance, hoping the old man was too busy to notice his absence.

The main hall was filled with gleeful chatter of the citizens who enjoyed the afternoon of their day-off. Even the bar was crowded, despite an early hour for alcohol. Passing by the row of smaller tables along the wall, Sanji was lost deep in daydreaming about his own restaurant someday becoming a place for people to enjoy their free time and the best fish meals in the town.

His suddenly high-lifted mood was cut off instantly when he felt a rough hand gripping his wrist.

"What the–"

Turning abruptly to the abuser, Sanji was about to roar and kick the fucker out of the building right through the window. But when he noticed to whom that outrageous hand belonged, his jaw dropped and his blood rushed off his limbs, making his head spin.

Zoro slowly raised a tankard of beer to his lips, his free hand still gripping Sanji's.

"You know what, Cook," he threw a sharp glance at the blond's face, and Sanji felt terror spreading throughout his body when he noticed a black eye patch on the swordsman's left eye, "this beer tastes like piss. Not to mention it costs as much as three nice tankards in the bar on the other side of the street."

"You–" Sanji felt his voice stuttering as his heart thumped with insane beat. He inhaled the air deep into his nostrils, helplessly gripping his hair with his free hand.

"Sit down," the green haired man uttered, letting his wrist free.

Sanji's legs obeyed before his mind could proceed with anything. Intertwining his fingers and brushing them against each other, he breathed erratically, not able to force his throat to let the sounds out.

"Cook," Zoro said quietly, his calm eye peering darkly into Sanji's.

"What happened to your eye?" the blond exhaled. The air in his lungs was moving so sharply he wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the hall could hear his heavy breathing.

"Nothing serious. We have another problem to solve now."

When Sanji glanced over Zoro's stoic face, he wasn't sure if he was imagining things or not, but a shadow of a small smile might've raised the corners of the man's mouth.

Wait, what the hell was he doing? Why on the damned Earth was he hesitating?

Sanji jumped up rapidly, gripping Zoro's wrist and almost ripping the man off the chair. He did notice the swordsman's eyes widen at his fulminant action, but he'd listen to all of Zoro's grudges after he said what he had to say. What he needed to say long time ago.

Dragging the caught off guard swordsman through the hall, Sanji was quickening his pace with every step he took, he was almost running. Less of all he cared now about hanged jaws of the customers. His whole being, his entire strength was focused on Zoro's wrist – so palpable, so warm, so real in his tight grip.

He kicked the door of the back entrance hard, pushing the swordsman out and letting his hand go. Stupid panting came in the fucking wrong time, and he pressed the heels of his hands onto his knees, using the sudden hindrance to form his feelings into words.

_Zoro, I'm so sorry. I know I'm an egoist, I know it was just circumstances and it's not your fault at all. I've been just a spoiled child, a selfish idiot. I have no idea what came into me, I was so stupidly distressed the whole day, and then you were late and I just..._ – No, that was out of track, not to mention it was only a pitiful excuse. _– I fucked up. It's all my fault. I realized how much I need you when it was too late, and I don't know how to fix it. These words are just all wrong..._ – Exactly, all the words seemed so wrong.

Sanji raised his face up, looking into the dark eye.

"Zoro, I'm–"

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders. Zoro pressed their bodies tight to each other.

"Sanji, forgive me," a whisper brushed his ear.

Dazed, shocked, overwhelmed, Sanji dipped his fingers onto Zoro's shoulder blades. The swordsman's heart thumped insanely fast, and the cook felt each beat as if it was his own.

"You're an idiot, it's me who needs to apologize," Sanji muttered, feeling his voice weaken treacherously.

"No, it's me," Zoro uttered, tightening his arms around Sanji's shoulders. His breath brushed the blond's neck as he spoke, and Sanji felt its irregularity. "I never listened to your wishes, never even tried to understand you–"

"Fuck, that's not how it is, it was me who was always demanding and never giving–"

"No, it was me!" Zoro's voice rose, sharp to Sanji's ear. "I was an egoist who–"

"Damn me if I wasn't!"

Somehow their lingering embrace didn't break even when they stubbornly pressed their foreheads together, both practically shouting.

"Just forgive me," Sanji uttered, looking into Zoro's eye, full of regret and guilt.

"Only if _you_ forgive me," the swordsman smiled softly, his fingers rubbing the back of Sanji's head.

"You're an idiot," the cook smiled, stroking Zoro's back in pacifying circles.

When Zoro's lips touched Sanji's forehead just slightly, the blond closed his eyes, feeling his breath becoming unsteady and losing its pace again.

"I missed you," he whispered, feeling soreness in his throat form a lump when Zoro traced kisses down his face, to his eyebrow, to his closed eyelid.

"I missed you too," the soothing voice assured him. Assured him that even if they both weren't flawless, they still were perfect for each other, no matter how complicated the things between them were.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you aware of the underground swordsmen meetings?" Tashigi furrowed, pinching on the bridge of her glasses.

"I am," Zoro answered quietly. Of course he was goddamn well aware of the meetings which were organized in a random corner of the country every year. He actually wished he never knew about that illegal contest of swordfighters, since knowing about it and being forbidden to participate after he'd got the scar on his chest there once was by all means disappointing for the man who desired to be the best swordsman in the world.

"There are some really tough guys as I've heard," the secretary swallowed thickly.

"I wonder where you heard this," the green haired man snorted. The meetings were well hidden from the eyes of normal citizens after all.

"Koshiro-sensei told me," Tashigi scowled, like it was an obvious thing.

A frown on Zoro's forehead was deepening with her every word. Koshiro was the one who rejected Zoro's pleas to fight at the meetings, and after that accident six years ago the swordsman didn't even know where and when the contests were taking place.

"It starts tomorrow morning," she sighed ever so slightly. "Koshiro said that since some Hawk-guy is–"

"Hawk?" Zoro's eyes widened. "Hawk-Eye?"

"Yes, something like that," Tashigi winced when the swordsman gripped her shoulder a bit rougher than it was needed.

"He'll be there?"

"Koshiro said so, I don't know any more," she shrugged Zoro's hand off.

Overwhelmed, the swordsman peered absently at his crossed shins. Hawk-Eye, the unbeatable sword master who'd shown up last time at the competition the year Zoro was participating. The man with a morbid aura of destruction was the one who cut off Zoro's chance to participate there annually, giving him a rough wound on his chest.

"And Koshiro wants me to go there?" he asked carefully as if the chance to surpass his old rival could be scared off like a bird.

Nodding, Tashigi reached into her chest pocket.

"I've already bought you tickets," she waved some papers in front of his nose.

Zoro couldn't believe his ears. Not that he wasn't prepared – since that grim day of an absolute failure he'd promised himself that one day he'd overcome Hawk-Eye. And since that day, he continued training, and he trained hard. It wasn't revenge for the wound on his chest – the wound on his pride wouldn't heal as simply as his skin. If he was going to be the best, he'd surely have to defeat his every opponent, even the invincible one – or so the younger Zoro used to think.

However, he'd become more mature, wiser at some point. Now he knew that a simple win wouldn't gain him anything besides temporary self-esteem boost. Throughout the years he learned that the result wasn't everything.

Tashigi had driven him to the train station, and he'd sensed her concerned gaze lingering on his face before he closed his eyes and buried himself deeper into the train seat. That woman's demeanor showed so much worry it was ridiculous. He wasn't going to die, not yet at least.

Arriving to the so-called town that was more like a tiny mountain village, where even cell phones weren't working, made Zoro's insides itch somewhat excitedly.

The Underground Meeting had no settled rules as an ordinary competition would. Most of the participants seemed to be non-professional swordsmen in terms of sports, which meant the styles they were using would usually be mixed. They had special alias for each fighter in order to not reveal their identities. No matter what type of sword Zoro's opponents used: katana like himself, wakizashi or hamidashi, all sorts of western swords like rapier, saber, short sword and many others, he always won without any extra diligence, which made him a little bored.

Only on the third day of the meeting he'd faced a tough opponent. Tall and broad, a shaved-head bull with a perky name Mister One, the guy used two cutlasses. Zoro welcomed the fucker with a smirk – it was a perfect opportunity to finally reveal the true power of his three-sword style he'd developed by himself but never used outside the dojo.

Besides that enormous guy, however, there weren't a lot of worthy fighters. It was a little disappointing – last time the green haired man took part in the event things had been much more difficult, thus more interesting. So, all Zoro had to do was to wait for Hawk-Eye to appear. The sword master made him bit on his nails a bit.

Under a fog of mystery and terror, Hawk-Eye appeared, looking at everyone from above, contemptuously. No wonder a bunch of his assigned opponents retreated even before their fights started. Only some hot-headed newbies tried to face him, failing after a short moment of their presence on the ring. The green haired swordsman chuckled at them – raw kids, exactly the same as he'd been once.

Standing behind the ring, Zoro watched Hawk-Eye's fighting. The swordsman fought with a giant cross-shaped sword, the type of which the green haired man couldn't recognize. Encrusted jewels and gothic-like carvings suggested it had been made specifically for Hawk-Eye. Although he gave incredibly brusque blows with it, Zoro couldn't comprehend how he was able to move so quick with that, at first glance, hulking piece of steel.

But all Hawk-Eye's movements were an embodiment of grace. It was almost impossible to catch with an eye, but Zoro managed to descry a subtle balance of the man's stance. He wasn't abutting fully on his feet, and that weird sword played a role of his supporter. Judging by the movements of his hands, he was concentrating his strength in his wrists and then in his fingers, arms almost frozen before he'd strike a blow. Still, Zoro couldn't fully understand how that technique worked, since Hawk-Eye was moving too fast for being caught by sight.

When Zoro's turn finally came, the green haired man breathed a lungful, steadying his somewhat erratic heartbeat. Tying a black bandana over his head, Zoro finally stood in front of Hawk-Eye. He slowly unsheathed his oldest katana – Wado Ichimonji – out of the white saya and placed her between his teeth.

"Playing tricks, Pirate Hunter?" his opponent chuckled darkly.

"I've learned something since the last time," Zoro smirked, his hands gripping the hilts of his two other comrades.

"I see," Hawk-Eye raised his chin ever so slightly.

Before Zoro could focus, the first strike was given. He barely dodged, bringing Sandai Kitetsu in his left hand down, where the opponent's shin was just a second ago.

"Too slow."

A sharp pain in his eye hit Zoro out of the blue. His vision reddened, making his head both light and heavy.

"First cut! End of the round!" He heard a voice from somewhere far away.

"Hawk-Eye," he husked. A dark figure loomed over him, but Zoro couldn't see its face. "Someday..."

"Someday, Pirate Hunter."

* * *

"The cut didn't affect my eyeball though," Zoro hurried to add, noticing how the blue eye widened in terror.

"Thank God," the cook turned away abruptly, resuming chopping a red pepper. "What would I do with a blind Marimo, huh?"

"I wouldn't be blind without one eye," Zoro folded his arms over his chest. "Are you dumb, Love-Cook?"

"Oh, fuck you," the blond snorted. "I'm just–"

"Worried about me?" The green haired man couldn't suppress a cocky grin that stretched his mouth.

"Pfft, in your dreams," Sanji rolled his eyes. Although a corner of his mouth rose visibly as if he thought Zoro wouldn't notice that small smile.

Stepping closer to the counter, Zoro wrapped his arms around the busy cook's waist, clenching his fingers on the man's abdomen. The scent of cigarettes, shaving lotion, musk, a lightest tone of sweat hit his nose when he buried it among golden locks.

"So, you didn't defeat him," Sanji muttered.

"No. But one day I will."

"Is this disappointing for you?"

Zoro's brows knitted together, making his head ache slightly.

"Why would it be?"

"Because..." The blond cut himself off, probably pondering. "You wanted to win, didn't you?" he asked, turning his face a bit over his shoulder.

"Well, that would be nice, but I'm still not the best," Zoro chuckled lightly. "But after I faced him, I know I have a lot to improve."

"So you learned something," the cook concluded, throwing the cut pieces into the bowl.

"Kind of," Zoro whispered into his ear, brushing the earlobe with his lips.

After finding the solution to their problem, Zoro felt a bit exhausted. The overwhelming truth hit the swordsman hard and suddenly pacified him so much he almost melted into a puddle.

When he'd returned this morning, he was shocked to discover a dozen of filled ashtrays around his suddenly clean apartment. Nobody had a key except the cook, so Zoro didn't suffer much to put two and two together. But even though he knew the blond was a heavy smoker, he physically couldn't smoke that much in one visit, so he'd probably returned there several times.

Zoro had headed to Chopper, and the little doctor told him (after several minutes of freaking out about the green haired man's fresh injury) that he did see Sanji from the distance a couple of times in the evenings when he'd hurried to his nightshifts, but didn't have any chance to talk to the blond.

Having no idea what could've brought the cook back to the place he moved out from, Zoro flipped his phone, which had finally come under coverage, open and called Usopp. The long-nosed guy wasn't surprised to hear Zoro and told him in brief that he hadn't seen Sanji in a while, since the cook was now living in the restaurant and seemed to be overly busy. Thanking Usopp hurriedly, Zoro rushed to the Baratie. No matter what the truth behind Sanji's visits was, the blond apparently needed him for something. Deep down in his heart Zoro had been _hoping_ to hear a certain thing from the cook, but Sanji's behavior turned up to be just... overwhelming.

They'd returned inside the Baratie after the talk, but the moment Zeff noticed Zoro in the kitchen, he roared like mad. That old man was always against Zoro being in his beloved kitchen, no wonder he kicked them both away, complaining and cursing. Among those words a statement that Sanji's work-day was over for now slipped, and the blond smiled softly at the infuriated old man.

Nevertheless the cook seemed just a bit insecure when they stepped outside the restaurant. An unlit cigarette hanging from his slightly parted lips thoughtfully, Sanji flicked his eyes askew to Zoro's side.

"What's wrong, Curly?" Zoro asked, confused.

"Well, now I'm free, but I kind of… have nothing to do for today," the blond shrugged matter-of-factly. The swordsman raised an uncomprehending brow at him.

"You actually have," he snorted. "We're going home, and then you feed me. I'm starving."

The cook chuckled, taking his fancy lighter out of his pocket.

"No wonder why, living on instant noodles all this time."

After that string had been pulled, Sanji successfully retorted every Zoro's twit. They'd been bickering all the way to the car and continued on their way home, the argument slowly fading. Right in the middle of another not so offending insult, Sanji suddenly cut himself off with an excited _"Oh!",_ his face brightening with delight.

"I totally forgot to tell you! You got me off track with your stupid talk, you moss-head."

"What's it?" Zoro tried to frown, but somehow he couldn't stay indifferent to that toothy grin of the cook's.

"Well," the blue eye flickered at the mirror conspiratorially, "I actually have my own restaurant now."

Zoro's eye got so wide he thought his eyeball would fall out. The news was way too overwhelming to be blurted out so casually, and for a moment he couldn't form any words, just staring at the grinning driver.

"Wait... How? When? Just–"

Sanji gave a pleased chuckle, obviously satisfied with the effect his act had on the dazed swordsman.

When the blond finished giving him a detailed explanation of what had actually happened during those solemn days, they'd already got home. Being swept into his own story, Sanji forgot to pay a visit to the store and cursed before rolling the wheel.

Zoro had always known that Sanji had a seemingly stupid dream of having his own restaurant. When he'd first heard about it, he just shrugged. The swordsman, who was fighting for the sake of his goal every day of his life, couldn't understand why having some stupid dining place would be so important. But the more Sanji spoke about it, the more Zoro watched the blond cook, it became more obvious to him that it was Sanji's own matter of importance. Sanji's bright smile spoke of pure enthusiasm every time the theme was touched, and Zoro finally started to get it. And if it would make Sanji happy, Zoro was ready to support him no matter how ridiculous his wish had seemed to be.

Having eventually returned home, Zoro somehow couldn't wait patiently for the dinner. The circumstances had been just insane, throwing him from the state of mournful solitude and stoic determination to their regained sanctuary, where the warm feelings were overflowing him and almost bursting out along with his aching insides.

Hearing Sanji's merry voice humming, seeing his lips stretching in a wholehearted smile affected something in Zoro's stomach so hard he couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. His cook actually wanted to be with him – all the swordsman's dread had been for nothing. Only a day ago Zoro had been positive he'd never see Sanji anymore. At least not so happy, not so light-hearted, not wearing such a genuine smile that added that special glint to the blue eye. No matter how Zoro wanted Sanji back, he still couldn't believe the cook wanted the same. It was just beyond him.

When the food had been ready, he swallowed all of it indiscriminately, not forgetting to lick his plate over. An amused look Sanji was giving him, a cigarette hanging between his thin fingers, implied that the cook took his behavior as a gratitude.

"You know," Sanji moved closer to him, brushing the stripe of his eye patch with warm fingertips, "for me, you still look hungry."

"I'd say thirsty," Zoro corrected, glancing at the fridge.

"Whatever you say."

The blond's eyes covered by a misty shadow, he leaned in to Zoro's recklessly parted lips. His tongue, not demanding, but asking, brushed Zoro's upper lip just slightly before the swordsman welcomed that heat, tilting his head to the side and pushing his own tongue into Sanji's longing mouth.

It wasn't long before they ended up on the couch, Sanji sitting on Zoro's lap while the swordsman stroked the back of his neck, forcing him closer to get more and satisfy his craving. Occasional bites Zoro was giving him only seemed to fuel the blond's hunger: Sanji sucked his tongue eagerly as if trying to devour Zoro's mouth.

The cook's hands lingered on Zoro's chest for a while before he pushed the swordsman back into the couch, parting the kiss and watching Zoro with an amused grin. His thin fingers worked fast on the tiny buttons of his dress shirt, showing Zoro the countdown to the point where the swordsman would be aroused so bad he'd groan from anticipation.

Their gazes locked without breaking, eyes watching each other intently. Zoro felt familiar fire in his muscles when the blond's hairy chest became unhidden for his eye. Wasting no time, he lifted his hoodie up through his head and dropped it to the side. The blue eye shifted to the scar on his now revealed chest, the corners of the cook's greedy mouth quivering excitedly before Sanji leaned in and placed a wet kiss to his collar bone.

Lacing his fingers through the blonde hair, Zoro watched Sanji's tongue slide down his chest, lingering on his nipple. An encircled motion of the moist flesh made Zoro's loins burn, his head falling back on the couch as he breathed out his stiff voice.

His ear caught a clink of a belt unfastening, and the loss of pressure on his thighs made him aware that Sanji slid down and dropped to his knees. Another clink, fast unzip, the blond's thumbs slid under the edges of both his jeans and boxers, and Zoro found himself naked, his hard cock quivering in need – everything in just a second. Lowering his head, he watched Sanji's fingers clasp around his erection, and as the cook's hand moved down, the swordsman snapped his eyes shut. A groan escaping through his teeth, he clenched his fingers into the pillows. Those warm fingers moved too slow, painfully slow. Zoro could barely restrain his hips from thrusting up and changing the teasing pace into something more, and when a wet feeling on his tip made him aware of what Sanji had in mind, the only thing he could do was obey and wait.

The blond's tongue rolled over the head, passing the electricity throughout Zoro's tense body. A not so fulfilling lick along with slow strokes were still painful, but that pain was so overwhelmingly good he felt more and more conflicted about it. The cook's mouth took him deeper, and while the fingers on Zoro's cock were still, damn it, slow, he felt a slight pressure on his entrance and instinctively spread his legs wider.

Sanji's finger pushed inside him at first carefully, but when the cook pulled it out a bit and thrusted back in deep, Zoro felt his jaw fall open, his throat letting out syllables he didn't want to imagine how loud. He felt the blond's lips stretching around his flesh, and with the next push Sanji swallowed him deeper into his mouth, letting his slick length slip inside almost to his throat.

Being penetrated and sucked off, Zoro fantasized how Sanji would withdraw and replace his finger with his cock, his hard length would pound into Zoro fast and steady, pushing in and pulling out, making his breath harder and harder before he'd lose himself completely in perfect ecstasy, screaming for more.

But Sanji's touches ceased abruptly, making Zoro snap his eye open. Sanji was facing him now, his finger still working in his ass. The blond leaned in and kissed his neck. Bites and licks made Zoro roll his eye in bliss, and he cupped the cook's jaw to turn him back to his face.

The eager, devouring kiss made Sanji withdraw his hand. Now pressed to each other again, they grinded their hips towards each other, the motions messed and erratic. Gripping the edge of Sanji's boxers and lowering the annoying cloth, Zoro glanced down at the blond's erection. He looked so hard as if he was about to burst, and the swordsman clasped their cocks together in a fist, pumping them in a quickly increasing pace.

Parting the kiss, Sanji still brushed Zoro's lips with his, occasional groans leaving his mouth open. His fingers dipped into the swordsman's shoulders, and that would probably leave scratches, but the feeling of the cook's nails on his skin made Zoro shudder in pleasure. With his free hand the green haired man lowered Sanji's pants down fully, grasping the cook's buttock. An appreciative moan parted Sanji's writhing lips, but his hips stopped the pace that was leading them both to the climax.

"I want to fuck you," Sanji husked into his ear. "Turn around."

Hearing that deep sensual voice so close, so audible even if it was quiet, made Zoro's blood scream with desire. He didn't need to be told twice and shifted on the couch, gripping into its back.

Sanji's hand traced down his chest, stopping below his abdomen and returning higher while the other one was apparently lubing his length. Feeling a slick tip press to his entrance, Zoro parted his knees for a better access. The filling pressure overflowed him with the first thrust, accompanied by Sanji's raw moan.

A steamy kiss below his ear made Zoro's muscles relax, but he tensed once again as Sanji drove inside him. Watching his own cock joggle with each thrust, feeling Sanji's balls flop over his own, Sanji's sharp breath on his neck, Zoro gripped hard into the couch, panting from the overwhelming rhythm.

The cook's hands slid over his chest, tightening a hold on his muscles, his thin fingers pinching on his hard nipples. As Sanji was pushing his cock inside and pulling it out faster and faster, Zoro imagined how the blond would suddenly flip him over to his back, sit up on his chest and grind his cock over Zoro's pecs, pressing his palm down on it and jerking, jerking hard, cursing under his breath when he'd be on the edge, his thighs trembling in the building orgasm. With furious thrusts Sanji would come on his chest, on his neck, on his face, all over his fucking face, and shove his cock into Zoro's mouth to make him lick the come off and swallow it.

"Zoro..." Sanji wheezed into his ear and ceased.

The swordsman felt the blond's knee shifting. Sanji placed one of his feet on the couch, the other one still pressing into the sitting. Zoro felt the flesh inside him pulse, and spread his thighs wider. The perfect angle made him twitch in the building agony when the tip of Sanji's cock brushed over the needed spot inside him.

The thrusts became ravenous, their sweated bodies were shaking visibly. Zoro moved his left hand to grip Sanji's thigh by his side, his fingers clenched it with a silent plea. Yet the blond only increased his wild pace, pounding into Zoro so hard it became raw and almost painful. So pleasurably painful.

"Sanji," Zoro husked, his throat sore. "I swear, another thrust, and I'll come."

Stopping abruptly, the blond panted into his ear. His quivering cock inside Zoro wasn't helping the swordsman's agonizing state.

"What's it?" the cook asked hoarsely.

"I want to make you feel good too," Zoro whispered erratically and felt the pressure inside him loosen.

Sanji collapsed on the couch, his chest raising and fading fast. Leaning over the blond, Zoro grabbed the bottle of lube from the floor.

"C'mon, I'm gonna die if you don't– _ah_"

Zoro drove himself in between Sanji's tough, powerful thighs. Pressing his slick tip to the hot tightness, Zoro leaned in and sucked on the blond's earlobe. One Zoro's hand clasped on the back of Sanji's neck, the other gripping the inner side of his thigh, and the swordsman rolled his hips forward. The cook's neck arched as Zoro's cock slipped inside and instantly was pulled out in half, Sanji's throat letting out a voluptuous moan. As much as Zoro's mind was misted by the close release, he enjoyed the view of the blond's sexy face twitching, the feeling of his nails dipping into Zoro's back.

Feeling the wave of bliss ready to overflow him, Zoro knew he'd be done after just a couple of movements. But Sanji's deep groans and writhed lips, his lidded blue eyes made Zoro desperate to last a bit more. Pounding deep into Sanji, he slid his hand up the blond's thigh and gripped his cock, pumping it fast, causing intense arching to Sanji's spine.

"I'm–" the cook only managed before letting out a prolonged moan, his come spilling out and staining Zoro's rough fist and his own abdomen. The pulsing heat inside Sanji tightened firmly around Zoro's length, and the swordsman followed, cursing and groaning in pure ecstasy.

The tension in his muscles vanished so suddenly he almost collapsed onto Sanji's slick chest. But before the exhaustion won over him, the blond pulled him close in a hug.

They panted, raw and worn out, for a long while. For a moment Zoro was drifting away into a drowsy state, but the feeling of Sanji's fingers stroking his hair made him stay conscious.

"You know," the blond muttered after clearing his throat quietly, "it's kind of weird, but... I think I love you."

Zoro's head, so light and fogged, spun as his heart almost broke through his rib cage.

"What's so weird about it, dumbass?" he chuckled lightly, slipping his arms underneath the blond's back to wrap them around Sanji's waist.

"That's the best fucking answer I could get from such a moron like you," the blond snorted, but Zoro felt his lips forming into a wide smile.

"I actually have no idea why I love such an asshole like you," Zoro whispered, placing a small kiss to the blond's neck.

* * *

Woken by a muted tune of raindrops knocking over the window, Zoro curled up under the warm blankets. Vaguely conscious, he buried his face deeper into the pillow, trying to hide a lazy smile.

Sanji had been babbling about his new restaurant the whole previous evening. Drinking beer and not very attentively watching some movies on TV, they'd sat on the couch, hands clasped together. Zoro had been listening to Sanji's daydreaming with a small grin. The details of menu and names of dishes, the name of the restaurant itself, the staff and positions of tables – the cook looked so excited talking about these things. Although the wide smile on his face faded a couple of times when he audibly reminded himself that _"It's all still just a project". _Zoro had stroked his thumb over the blond's wrist, assuring him that if he was so close now, nothing would go wrong. And Sanji's face had immediately brightened, corners of his eyes wrinkling with joy. That expression was so confident, so determined, that Zoro couldn't help but be happy for his lover. Being proud of him, and he was ready to help him with whatever he was able to do. Ready to always be by his side, no matter how hard the circumstances would try to bend them. Now Zoro was sure nothing in the world would draw them apart again.

Zoro stiffened under the blanket and outstretched his arm to wrap it around the blond's waist. But his palm met only the crumpled blankets.

Snapping his eye open, the green haired man found himself alone in their large bed. An anxious feeling of emptiness touched his chest for a moment, but he shrugged it off. Sitting up on the bed, feet pressing to the floor, he sensed the too familiar scent somewhere far away. A stupid wide grin plastered on his face, he slipped into his sweatpants and headed to the kitchen.

The morning coffee was boiling on the stove, he wasn't mistaken. The other scent his nose had caught was proceeding from the cigarette the cook was holding between his fingers.

Sanji stood near the windowsill with his bare back to the doorway, face to the window. Zoro approached quietly, and when his hand landed onto the cook's shoulder, Sanji flinched slightly. Turning his face to Zoro, the blond beamed with all his teeth.

"Good morning, Marimo," he muttered, placing a short kiss to Zoro's jaw.

"Morning," the green haired man smiled softly.

"Zoro," Sanji turned to face him fully and handled something to the swordsman. "What's this?"

Some ragged wrapping paper, a wrinkled ribbon and a small box.

"Oh," Zoro's eyes widened. He'd almost forgot. "It's for you."

"Hm?" The blond's curly brow rose curiously.

"It's a present I bought for your birthday," Zoro uttered, scratching his neck. "Open it."

Thin fingers worked fast to unfold the remains of the paper and to open the box. When the silver chain appeared in his view, Sanji's face bloomed with the most pleasant smile.

"Well, not bad for a dumbass Marimo," the blond chuckled, taking the watch out and examining it enthusiastically.

"Happy birthday," Zoro squeezed his shoulder, not able to drive his eye away from Sanji's gleeful face.

"Thank you, Zoro."


	10. Epilogue

"And when I called him after that, Sanji had already returned. See, that was me, Usopp the Great, who brought them back together!"

"Wow, really? That's so awesome, Usopp!"

Chopper looked at the long-nosed guy with awe in his wide brown eyes. Using an opportunity, Luffy stole a sip from his milkshake that, for his taste, appeared to be too sweet. Obviously enjoying himself, Usopp crossed his arms proudly on his chest. Nami rolled her eyes, taking a noisy sip of her smoothie.

"Actually, you were the one who freaked out the most," she punched his shoulder.

"Ouch!" The long-nosed guy rubbed the affected place, scowling in pain.

"'Oh my god, they will never get together, oh my god, what should we do!'" Nami exclaimed dramatically, lowering her voice to imitate Usopp's. "And then you acted cool when I tried to put some reason into Sanji, like you hadn't almost been crying several moments ago!"

Watching his friends bicker, Luffy laughed. They were so funny with their enthusiastic expressions.

"Sorry, got late," a low voice sounded from the side, attracting everyone's attention.

Luffy turned to the newcomer with a wide grin.

"Zoro! You're here!"

"A kid in the dojo had been waiting for his parents, but they didn't come," the green haired man explained, sitting down to the table. "I led him home and got a bit–"

"Lost again, huh, Marimo?"

With a slightly annoyed frown that changed into a grin instantly, Sanji approached their table, a tray with drinks and so deliciously smelling snacks in his hands.

"Hi, Sanji!" Luffy greeted, picking a chicken fried wing from the plate the cook placed in front of him.

"Hi, Luffy," the blond smiled. "How was your, hm, business?"

"It was a nice adventure!" The black haired boy beamed.

With a nod, the blond patted his shoulder and picked a glass of champagne.

"Usopp, can you, please," he turned to the long-nosed guy, who was still in the middle of arguing with Nami.

"Oh, come on, are you going to strike a long-ass pompous speech, Cook?" Zoro snorted with a mouthful of food.

"You shitty moss-head better shut up now, it's important news!" Sanji's face inflamed with rage.

"We all know you're opening your shitty restaurant, Curly-brow."

"Guys, stop fighting," Chopper mumbled with a frown.

"Are you opening a restaurant?" Luffy asked, chewing meat.

"You–" Sanji slapped his forehead with his palm. Taking a gulp from his glass, he abruptly sat onto the chair between Luffy and Zoro. "Ah, fuck you, fuck the restaurant, let's just eat already."

"Oh, c'mon, spit it."

"The 'All Blue' restaurant will be soon at your service, ladies and cavemen," the cook grinned, raising his glass. "Cheers."

"Wow, congrats, Sanji!" The little doctor's face instantly brightened.

"That's good news!" Nami's eyes widened, a pretty smile blooming on her face.

"Cheers!" Usopp laughed, raising a glass.

"This is awesome!"

Luffy grinned toothily at his friends. He watched as Zoro received a not so tough kick from Sanji below the table for a remark the black haired guy hadn't heard, and how the blonde cook tried to disguise his obvious grin by an angry expression. Chopper looked dazedly at Usopp, who was telling a tale about an alien car that turned into a giant robot at his work (for a moment Luffy himself wanted to see that cool robot too). Nami, trying her best not to look amused, was tutting her tongue at the long-nosed guy, yet a small smile she couldn't hide curled her lips around the straw when she was sipping on her drink.

They were laughing, chattering, bickering – being the merry themselves. Biting another piece of the gloriously delicious meat Sanji had prepared for them, Luffy remembered how much he'd missed his friends, his closest and most treasured people. It was so good they were all there together, so happy, so lively, so precious.


End file.
